THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


UTUMN 
LEAVES 


BY 


MARY  BASSETT  CLARKE 

(IDA  FAIRFIELD) 


BUFFALO 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 
1895 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 
BY  MARY  BASSETT  CLARKE. 


PKINTBD  BY 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON, 
BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


/A..1 

(L553 


CONTENTS. 

LEGENDARY  POEMS. 

PAGE 

Legend  of  Watch-Hill 9 

Character 21 

The  Beautiful  Temple 23 

Baby's  Kiss 25 

Hetty  Marvin 27 

Wingless  Birds 31 

The  Pilgrims 32 

Perfection 35 

Bessie 38 

Seven  Wise  Men 41 

Eliab 42 

The  White  Elephant 45 

The  Old  Clock's  Story 46 

The  Clay  Sparrow 49 

Si-Ling 51 

The  Moss  Rose 53 

The  True  Cross 54 

The  Common  Lot 56 

BY  THE  SEA. 

"  City  of  Waco  " 61 

Sea  Dreams '.  65 

The  Light-House 68 

The  Fisherman 70 

Living  Waters 71 

"The  Sea  is  His" 73 

The  Life  Line 75 

The  Seashell 79 

The  Mirage 80 

Trust 82 

Three  Fisherman 85 


e: 


IV  CONTENTS. 

RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

God 89 

Christ's  Blessing 90 

Divine  Compassion 93 

The  Revealer 95 

The  Laborers 97 

The  Messenger 99 

Faith,  Hope  and  Charity 101 

The  Refuge 103 

Peace 104 

"  Never  Yet  Heard  " 106 

While  I  Slept 108 

Palms no 

The  Risen  Lord 112 

Prayer 114 

God's  House 115 

"Peace  on  Earth" 119 

The  Place  of  Rest 120 

The  Healing  Touch 122 

The  Field 123 

Truth 124 

The  Tried  Stone 126 

What  of  the  Night? 128 

The  Answer 129 

Willing  Service 131 

Christ  at  the  Well 132 

Look  and  Live 135 

Awakening 137 

Sustaining  Grace 138 

The  Lord's 140 

What  is  it  in  Thy  Hand? 141 

Abide  With  Me 143 

MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

The  Three  Friends 147 

Asleep 150 

Our  Baby  Boy 152 


CONTENTS.  V 

May  aoth •   •    .   .  154 

His  Will 155 

Lua , 157 

Wherefore  ? 158 

Assurance 159 

Among  the  Flowers 161 

Recognition 162 

Victory 164 

"Dead,  Yetspeaketh" 165 

Our  Brothers 167 

TEMPERANCE  POEMS. 

The  Maelstrom 173 

The  Hidden  Serpent 178 

The  Pitcher  Plant 180 

Lost  Lambs 182 

The  End  thereof  is  Death 184 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Beautiful 189 

The  Mountain  Stream 191 

Old  and  New 192 

Sunset  among  the  Hills 194 

Springtime 197 

King  Winter  . 198 

The  Missing  Guy 199 

The  Magdalen 201 

Memories 204 

Gratitude 206 

Henry  of  Navarre 209 

The  Empty  Nest 210 

Wind  Flowers 212 

Joseph's  Tomb 213 

The  Old  Cannon 215 

The  Prayer- Meeting 217 

The  Snowbird 219 

The  Household  Pet 221 

The  Bell  of  Justice 223 


VI  CONTENTS. 

The  King's  Reply 225 

The  Roman  Mother  and  Child 227 

The  Blessing 229 

The  Old  Year 230 

The  Bright  Side 233 

Harvest  Home 234 

Little  Katherine 235 


LEGENDARY  POEMS 


LEGEND  OF  WATCH  HILL. 

WHERE  the  broad  and  solemn  ocean 
Laves  the  sandy  shore, 
Gently,  when  the  tide  is  low, 
And  the  waves  in  rhythmic  flow, 
Sigh  along  the  strand, 
Whispering,  as  they  come  and  go, 
Tales  of  other  land, 
Where  the  winds  in  wild  commotion, 
With  a  deafening  roar 
Dash  the  billows,  mountain  high, 
Toward  the  cloud-encircled  sky, 
And  the  crests  of  snowy  foam 
Find  on  lofty  rocks  a  home, 
Vainly  seeking  thus  to  hide 
Every  brown  and  rugged  side, 
Towering  in  its  grandeur  still, 
Stands  the  far-famed  mound,  Watch  Hill. 
Years  and  years  ago,  it  stood 
Thus  serene  beside  the  flood. 
While,  where  now  the  golden  grain 
Waves  upon  the  distant  plain, 
And  the  cottage  gleaming  white, 
Greets  the  weary  traveler's  sight, 
And  the  steepled  church  towers  high, 
With  its  Sabbath-pealing  bell 
Sounding  warnings  solemnly, 
'Mid  the  organ's  grandest  swell; 


10  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Then  the  forests  dark  and  wide 
Stretching  heavenward  in  their  pride 
Stood  like  brothers  firm  allied, 
And  the  red-man's  ear  alone 
Caught  the  solemn  undertone, 
Of  the  wild  winds  making  moan. 

Free  as  the  wild  deer  of  the  woods, 

Who  roam  through  leafy  solitudes, 

In  learning's  ways  untaught  as  they, 

In  pleasure  rude,  and  fierce  in  play, 

Vengeful  in  hate,  with  thirst  for  blood, 

The  war-like  Pequots  thronged  the  wood. 

Learned  the  rude  games  their  sires  had  taught 

And  boasted  of  the  battles  fought. 

The  scalp-locks  hanging  by  his  side 

Awoke  the  warrior's  fiercest  pride, 

Chased  the  young  deer  from  hill  to  dale, 

And  made  the  antlered  heroes  quail, 

And  when  the  moonlight  softly  fell 

On  forest  dark,  and  grassy  dell, 

With  whoop  and  shriek  of  startling  sound 

Upon  the  smooth,  untrodden  ground, 

In  the  wild  war-dance,  circled  round. 

But  glimpses  of  a  nobler  race, 
Amid  this  savage  horde  we  trace, 
Faint  strivings  of  the  deathless  mind 
Within  such  casket  rude  enshrined: 
The  stern  heart,  of  the  savage  sire, 
Was  kindled  with  parental  fire, 
For  the  brave  son,  who  bore  his  name, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  II 

And  human  love,~and  woe,  the  same 
As  to  their  pale-faced  brothers  came. 
A  wild,  unfettered  life,  they  shared, 
The  rude,  unlettered  path,  prepared 
By  the  Great-Spirit,  for  the  feet 
Which  from  the  white  man  must  retreat, 
Forever  backward,  until  lost 
Along  the  wide,  Pacific  coast. 


When  the  sun  was  shining  brightly, 

In  the  balmy  month  of  June, 

And  the  forest  flowers  were  blooming, 

And  the  forest  birds  in  tune, 

Down  beside  the  sparkling  water 

At  the  noon  of  day, 

With  a  tame  fawn  close  beside  her, 

Gambolling  in  its  play, 

Came  a  maiden,  Wahaneeta, 

Daughter  of  the  Pequot  chief, 

Bending  low,  she  loosed  her  sandals, 

With  a  smile  of  sweet  relief, 

As  the  salt  wave  sent  its  ripples 

Softly  o'er  her  slender  feet, 

Feet  of  such  aerial  lightness 

That  the  waves  in  foamy  whiteness 

Gave  them  kisses  sweet. 

Fairest  of  the  forest  maidens, 

Old  Sassacus'  pride. 

Wahaneeta  had  been  chosen 

Many  a  warrior's  bride, 

But  nn  answer,  grave  and  tender, 


12  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

On  her  sweet  lips  ready  hung, 

"  Seek  the  brave  some  older  maiden 

Wahaneeta  is  too  young, 

Let  her  dwell  with  wise  Sassacus, 

Let  her  be  her  father's  pride, 

Years  ago,  beneath  the  hillock, 

Laid  the  chieftain  down  his  bride, 

And  his  heart  would  grow  too  heavy, 

And  his  tent  too  lonely  be, 

Ask  her  not  to  leave  the  chieftain, 

Wahaneeta's  heart  is  free." 

Yet  had  eyes  of  radiant  brightness, 
Sometimes  flashed  upon  her  dreams, 
Gilding  them  with  wondrous  beauty 
As  the  moonlight  gilds  the  streams, 
Eyes  whose  glances,  dark  and  tender, 
Flashed  upon  her  path  by  day, 
Till  a  maiden  instinct  warned  her 
She  must  turn  her  own  away. 
'Twas  the  young  Manisses  chieftain 
Who  had  stirred  her  heart  of   late, 
Once  her  nation's  foe  unconquered, 
Object  of  her  father's  hate, 
Though  the  hatchet  now  was  buried 
Though  they  hunted  side  by  side, 
Still  her  heart's  misgivings  taught  her, 
If  the  brave  young  warrior  sought  her, 
She  could  never  be  his  bride. 

Wahaneeta  on  the  sea-shore 
With  her  playmate  sported  long, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  13 

Blending  with  the  water's  music, 

Snatches  of  a  wild,  sweet  song. 

Till  at  last  she  weary  grew; 

To  her  side  she  gently  drew 

Her  companion,  as  she  sank 

On  the  sea- grass,  tall  and  rank 

Which  adorned  the  rugged  bank. 

Silently  she  watched  the  sunbeams 

Which  upon  the  waters  lay, 

Watched  the  golden,  dancing  sunbeams 

With  the  laughing  waves  at  play. 

"  Wahaneeta,  Star  of  Beauty," 

Sang  a  low  voice  at  her  side, 

"  See,  the  warrior  kneels  before  thee, 

Wilt  thou  come,  and  be  my  bride  ? 

"  Many  braves  has  Shushuwanee, 
Many  scalps  hang  by  his  side, 
Grave  old  sachems  guide  his  councils, 
Come,  and  be  our  nation's  pride. 
Turn  not  from  me,  Star  of  Beauty, 
Listen  to  my  spirit's  cry, 
Let  me  see  thy  smile  of  welcome, 
Or  in  grief  my  heart  will  die, 
Hear  me,  hear  me,  Wahaneeta, 
Never  maiden  heard  before 
Shushuwanee  pleading  for  her, 
He  can  plead  for  thee  no  more." 
Ceased  the  youthful  chieftain's  voice, 
Waiting  for  the  maiden's  choice, 
Would  she  yield  her  heart  to  one 
Of  a  hated  race  the  son  ? 


14  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Wahaneeta  saw  undazzled, 
Sunbeams  glistening  on  the  wave, 
But  she  could  not  meet  the  glances 
Of  the  young  Manisses  brave. 
Memory  of  her  father's  hatred 
Flashed  across  her  troubled  brain, 
Hatred,  which  she  knew  unchanging, 
Thrilled  her  heart  with  sudden  pain, 
Though  that  hatred  seemed  to  sleep, 
Still  her  father's  heart  must  keep 
Vengeful  feelings  buried  deep. 
But  love's  witchery  o'er  her  stole, 
Strangely  thrilling  all  her  soul, 
Hope,  in  rainbow  colors  gay, 
Decked  the  future  of  her  way, 
And  her  burning  cheek  was  pressed 
Closely  to  the  warrior's  breast, 
While  her  whispering  lips  replied: 
"  I  will  be  thine  own  true  bride." 

Silently  the  golden  ray 
From  the  waters  died  away, 
Twilight  gathered  cold  and  gray; 
Thus  love's  brightness  would  depart, 
From  the  maiden's  trusting  heart, 
Thus  in  sorrow,  doubt  and  gloom, 
Joy  and  life,  find  early  tomb. 
Soon  a  firm  and  heavy  tread 
Bade  the  maiden  raise  her  head, 
And  love's  raptured  silence  broke, 
Then  a  frown  grew  dark  and  low, 
On  Sassacus'  haughty  brow, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  15 

As  the  aged  warrior  spoke, 

"  Home,  idle  girl,  thou  long  hast  strayed, 

Not  thus,  hast  thou  been  taught, 

Thy  father's  blanket  still  unmade, 

His  sandals  yet  unwrought." 

Silently  they  stood  before  him, 
Flushed  with  guilt  and  pride, 
Wahaneeta  would  have  hastened 
From  her  lover's  side, 
But  his  gentle  clasp  detained  her, 
And  his  voice  grew  calm  and  clear, 
With  a  conscious  strength  of  purpose, 
As  he  spake:  "Brave  warrior,  hear, 
Word  for  thee,  has  Shushuwanee, 
"Pis  a  brave  who  asks  of  thee, 
Give  the  maiden,  Wahaneeta, 
Let  her  go  and  dwell  with  me. 
Far  across  the  foaming  waters 
In  the  lodge  beside  the  sea, 
Loneliness  and  silence  reigneth, 
She  will  joy  and  gladness  be, 
There  my  braves  await  their  chieftain, 
They  will  greet  with  words  of  cheer, 
True  their  arrows,  swift  their  footsteps, 
Foes,  they  never  learned  to  fear, 
Many  skins  for  brave  Sassacus, 
Beads  and  wampum  they  shall  bring, 
For  our  tomahawk  is  buried, 
And  our  warriors,  now  shall  sing 
But  one  song,  around  the  camp-fire, 
In  the  chilly  winter's  night, 


1 6  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

4  Brave  Sassacus,  wise  in  counsel, 

Foremost  in  the  fight.'  ' 

Many  shadows,  swiftly  changing, 

Flitted  o'er  Sassacus'  brow 

As  he  heard  the  youthful  chieftain 

Speaking  grave  and  low. 

Grief  and  hate,  together  blending 

With  the  cunning  of   his  race, 

Struggled  fiercely  in  his  bosom, 

Shadowed  dimly  on  his  face. 

But  at  length  he  schooled  his  features, 

Calm  his  tone,  and  smooth  his  tongue: 

"  Let  the  warrior  bide  in  patience, 

Wahaneeta  still  is  young, 

Seek  his  home  across  the  water, 

Bring  the  bear-skins  and  the  beads. 

Bring  the  heavy  belts  of  wampum, 

Which  the  Pequot  warrior  needs, 

See  again  Manisse  maidens, 

When  three  moons  his  love  has  tried, 

If  he  seeks  for  Wahaneeta, 

She  shall  be  the  chieftain's  bride." 

When  the  midnight  moonlight,  silvered 

All  the  dew-bespangled  dell, 

And  upon  his  couch  of  bear-skins, 

Grim  Sassacus  slumbered  well, 

Wahaneeta  heard  the  music 

Of  a  wild,  sweet,  Indian  lay, 

"  Rest  thee,  love,  in  sweetest  slumber, 

With  the  earliest  dawn  of  day, 

Shushuwanee  hence  must  hasten, 

Hasten  on  his  watery  way, 


LEGENDARY   POEMS.  17 

To  the  lodge  of  the  Manisses, 

To  our  ocean  girdled  isle, 

All  whose  beauty  yet  shall  blossom, 

In  the  sunlight  of  thy  smile. 

Fear  thou  not,  the  swift-winged  eagle 

Soars  not  swifter  toward  the  sun, 

Than  shall  Shushuwanee  hasten 

Hither,  when  his  task  is  done. 

When  the  summer's  sun  shines  hottest, 

Wait  thou,  by  the  ocean's  side, 

Watch  and  wait  for  Shushuwanee, 

He  will  come  to  claim  his  bride." 

Swiftly  sped  the  summer  hours, 

Bright  with  beauty,  birds  and  flowers. 

Wandering  through  the  forest  bowers, 

Gathering  many  a  bright-hued  treasure, 

Cast  aside  by  careless  wing 

Of  some  rare  bird,  gay  of  plumage, 

(Fit  to  ornament  a  king), 

Weaving  them  in  shapes  fantastic 

With  gay  quills  of  porcupine, 

Fitting  out  her  Indian  wardrobe, 

Wahaneeta  passed  the  time. 

But  as  warmer  grew  the  sunbeams 

In  the  sultry  August  days, 

More  she  wandered  by  the  sea-shore, 

Singing  still  more  joyous  lays. 

Looking  often,  toward  the  island, 

With  a  bright,  expectant  face, 

Donning  every  curious  garment 

Which  could  lend  her  added  grace. 

Growing  restless,  eager,  anxious, 


1 8  AUTUMN    LEAV1  •<. 

As  the  days  passed  one  by  one 

And  the  youthful  chieftain  lingered 

Still  towards  the  setting  sun. 

Lingered  did  I  say  ?     Poor  maiden, 

Little  dreamed  her  trusting  heart, 

Of  the  secret  foe,  who  followed, 

With  the  swift  and  poisoned  dart, 

When  her  brave,  young  warrior  started, 

High  with  hopes,  that  dewy  morn, 

Hopes  like  dew-gems  doomed  to  perish, 

Soon  of  life  and  beauty  shorn. 

Scarce  from  Shushuwanee's  vision 

Had  the  Pequot  lodges  faded, 

Scarcely  hidden,  was  the  shelter 

Which  his  heart's  best  treasure  shaded, 

Floating  still  along  the  shore, 

Rocking  in  his  birch  canoe, 

When  the  poisoned  arrow  reached  him, 

Silent,  swift  and  true. 

For  Sassacus'  stealthy  cunning, 

Sent  the  treacherous  spy, 

In  advance,  to  watch  the  chieftain, 

And  in  ambush  lie. 

And  the  arrow  found  its  victim, 

And  the  life-blood  of  the  brave, 

In  a  dark,  ensanguined  current. 

Tinged  the  briny  wave. 

Summer  waned  to  gorgeous  autumn, 

And  the  balmy  air 

Shed  a  hazy,  softened  splendor 

O'er  the  landscape  fair. 

Wahaneeta  with  that  shadow, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  19 

Wan  and  shadowy  grew, 

Hope  deferred  a  patient  sorrow 

O'er  her  spirit  threw. 

Daily,  hourly  now,  her  station 

Was  beside  the  sea, 

Watching,  waiting,  looking  sadly, 

Where  his  bark  should  be. 

Old  Sassacus*  brow  grew  sterner, 

Sadder  grew  his  heart, 

Conscience  sometimes  smote  him  sorely, 

For  his  treacherous  part, 

As  he  loved  his  gentle  daughter 

Fondly,  as  his  nature  knew, 

And  to  win  her  back  to  pleasure 

Would  have  brought  to  life  anew, 

The  brave  warrior,  from  the  shadows 

Of  the  far-off  hunting  ground, 

But  remorse  or  grief  called  vainly, 

And  the  dead  gave  back  no  sound. 

One  by  one  the  hues  of  autumn, 

Changed  to  sober  brown, 

And  the  dead  leaves  of  the  forest, 

One  by  one,  came  rustling  down. 

And  the  winds  grew  wild  and  chilly, 

Sighing  with  a  mournful  tone, 

Through  the  dreary,  woodland  mansions, 

Like  a  broken  spirit's  moan. 

Wahaneeta  kept  her  station, 

Still  more  frail  and  sad, 

Heeding  not  her  father's  counsel, 

Grief  had  made  her  mad. 

Morn  and  evening,  storm  and  sunshine, 


2O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

E'en  the  lightning's  glare 

Found  her  watching  still  the  ocean, 

Watching,  waiting  there. 

When  the  wild  winds  of  November, 

Swept  the  hillside  long, 

On  the  frosty  breath  of  midnight, 

Rose  her  mournful  song: 

"  Thou  art  coming,  I  behold  thee 

Floating  in  thy  bark  canoe 

Long  for  thee  I've  watched  and  waited, 

To  my  promise  true, 

But  the  loneliness  is  passing, 

Thou  art  hastening  to  my  side. 

Soon  with  joy  and  love  unchanging 

I  shall  be  thine  own  true  bride." 


With  the  morning's  light,  they  found  her, 

Silent,  cold  and  dead, 

While  the  damp  snow  falling  round  her, 

Robe  of  purest  beauty  spread. 

'Neath  the  mound  upon  the  hillock 

Where  her  mother  long  had  slept, 

Old  Sassacus  gently  laid  her, 

Silent,  turned  away  and  wept, 

Colder,  sterner  grew  his  nature, 

Deeper  furrows  on  his  brow, 

As  the  years  in  sorrow  lingered, 

Till  death's  archer  laid  him  low. 

Time  has  swept  from  hill  and  forest, 

Of  the  red  man,  every  trace, 

And  the  ancient  haunts  are  peopled, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  21 

By  a  wiser,  nobler  race. 

But  the  name  of  Wahaneeta, 

Like  sweet  music  lingers  still, 

Nature's  tribute  to  affection, 

And  the  mound  is  called  Watch  Hill. 


CHARACTER. 

TWO  spirits,  lately  freed  from  earth, 
With  strong  impulsive  force, 
Through  vast  and  trackless  realms  of  space, 

Began  their  viewless  course. 
Each  had  his  purpose  well  defined 

While  dwelling  here  below, 
And  sped,  like  arrow  tow'rd  its  mark 
Sent  by  unerring  bow. 

With  each  across  the  boundless  waste, 

His  guardian  angel  went, 
And  semblance  of  companionship 

Along  the  journey  lent, 
For  there,  as  here,  each  spirit  held 

His  individual  way 
To  realms  of  darker  midnight  still 

Or  bright  and  brighter  day. 

The  first  beheld,  and  lo  !  afar 

Uprose  across  his  path 
A  form  most  horrible  to  view 

A  shape  of  dread  and  wrath — 


22  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

A  demon  of  such  frightful  mein 
The  gazer  shrank  in  fear — 

"Nay,"  said  his  angel,  "wherefore  shrink 
From  what  dost  there  appear  ? 

"  'Tis  but  thyself,  as  thou  wilt  be 

When  thou  hast  reached  that  line, 
The  future  springs  to  meet  thy  gaze 

And  show  thee  what  is  thine. 
Long  years  ago,  this  selfsame  path 

Thy  feet  commenced  to  tread  ; 
And  when  yon  state  thou  hast  attained 

The  goal  lies  far  ahead." 

The  other  saw,  in  distance  far, 

A  vision  wond'rous  fair, 
A  form  of  light,  a  saintly  face, 

Clear  eyes  and  shining  hair, 
A  spirit  of  such  loveliness 

He  questioned  with  delight, 
"  And  may  I  join  yon  seraph  form, 

And  walk  with  him  in  white?" 

His  angel  smiling,  answered  him, 

"  Thou  but  beholdest  there, 
Projected  on  the  future's  wall 

The  form  which  thou  wilt  wear  ; 
And  still,  while  endless  ages  roll, 

Thou  wilt  approach  to  share 
The  glory  of  the  Holy  One, 

The  Lord,  beyond  compare." 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  23 

Oh  !  solem  Future,  on  thy  scroll 

What  pictures  will  appear, 
In  varying  shades,  intenser  grown, 

With  each  succeeding  year  ? 
Since  time,  its  swift  gradations  here 

Seeks  vainly  to  conceal, 
What  growth  in  good  or  evil,  must 

Eternity  reveal ! 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TEMPLE. 

IN  far-off  India,  home  of  art, 
A  costly  temple  stands, 
So  rarely  beautiful,  its  name, 
Is  wafted  on  the  wings  of  fame, 
A  model  for  all  lands. 

But  not  alone  in  carven  wood, 

Is  wrought  the  wondrous  spell  ; 
The  pilgrim  scents  a  sweet  perfume, 
Like  breath  of  roses  in  their  bloom, 
O'er  beds  of  asphodel, 

And  peers  in  every  shaded  nook, 

The  secret  spell  to  know — 
To  find  the  alabaster  vase, 
Or  incense-burning  altar  trace 
Or  censer  swinging  low. 


24  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

But  naught  discerns  save  works  of  art 

Produced  with  nicest  care, 
The  painter's  dream,  the  poet's  thought, 
In  forms  exquisitely  enwrought, 
And  beauty  everywhere, 

And  fails  perchance  at  last,  to  learn 

The  secret  hidden  there, 
In  massive  walls  of  odorous  wood, 
Which  skillful  workmen  found  so  good 

To  build  the  palace  fair. 

In  silent  grandeur  towering  high, 

The  sun's  first  kiss  to  win, 
No  sign  or  token  doth  it  bear, 
Save  witness  of  the  perfumed  air, 
That  fragrance  dwells  within. 

Like  that  grand  temple  is  the  life, 

With  Christ  indwelling  there, 
Whose  quiet  goodness,  hour  by  hour, 
Like  odorous  wood,  or  fragrant  flower, 
With  sweetness  fills  the  air. 

Build  then,  oh !  soul,  thy  temple  build, 

Of  that  most  precious  wood, 
Its  walls  of  character  shall  rise 
To  catch  the  brightness  of  the  skies, 
And  Heaven  pronounce  it  good. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  25 


BABY'S  KISS. 

TRAMP,  tramp  the  soldiers, 
Marching  down  the  street, 
Steadily  the  drum  call 
Fell  with  even  beat! 
On  their  way  to  Gettysburg 
Went  the  "  boys  in  blue," 
Who  would  e'er  return  again 
None  among  them  knew. 

Where  the  light  was  brightest, 

Lanterns  swinging  high, 
Clapped  her  hands  a  baby 

With  a  joyful  cry; 
Never  to  her  vision 

Came  so  fair  a  sight, 
Music,  men  and  torches 

In  the  quiet  night. 

"  Halt!  "  "  the  boys  "  were  resting 

For  a  moment  brief; 
Foot-sore  men,  and  weary, 

Glad  of  this  relief. 
Brighter  seemed  the  pageant 

To  the  baby's  eyes, 
While  she  shouted  louder 

In  her  sweet  surprise. 


26  AUTUMN    LEAV1  -.>. 

"May  I  kiss  the  baby?" 

Said  a  soldier  near, 
Brushing  with  his  coat-sleeve 

From  his  cheek  a  tear; 
"Just  so  fair  another, 

Long,  long  months  ago 
Left  I,  in  the  homestead 

Where  the  north  winds  blow." 

Lightly  to  his  bosom 

Sprang  the  eager  child, 
Touched  his  rough  cheek  softly 

With  her  lips,  and  smiled. 
All  night  long  the  soldier 

Felt  the  impress  there, 
Sweeter  than  the  rose-leaf 

On  the  summer  air. 

Tenderly  he  placed  her 

Back  in  mother's  arms, 
Home  and  country  dearer 

For  her  baby  charms: 
Through  the  tiresome  marches 

Walked  with  firmer  tread, 
For  the  brief  enfolding 

Of  that  golden  head. 

Morning  brought  the  battle: 
Fast  the  brave  men  fell, 

Mown,  like  grass  in  summer, 
By  the  shot  and  shell. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  27 

Down  amid  the  trenches 

Where  the  dead  were  piled, 
Sleeps  the  gallant  soldier, 

Far  from  wife  and  child. 


HETTY  MARVIN. 

AN    INCIDENT    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 

OPREADING  the  linen  beside  the  stream, 

O     Watching  it  bleach  in  the  sun's  bright  gleam, 

Sprinkling  the  water  with  small,  white  hand, 

Fair  as  the  fairest  in  all  the  land 

Was  Hetty  Marvin,  the  little  maid 

Of  twelve,  who  beside  the  linen  staid. 

Sweet  Hetty  Marvin,  whose  mother  brave, 
Good  Governor  Griswold's  head  to  save, 
When  the  British  attacked  New  London  town 
And  many  a  patriot  brave  shot  down, 
Her  cousin  had  safely  hidden  away, 
In  her  quiet  home,  for  many  a  day. 

But  winds  had  wafted  the  secret  back, 
And  the  subtile  foe  were  on  his  track. 
A  price  was  set  on  the  Governor's  head, 
And  for  further  safety,  again  he  fled 
With  rapid  footsteps  across  the  way, 
Where  Hetty  bleached  her  linen  that  day. 


28  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

He  paused  a  moment  beside  the  maid, 

"  My  life  is  in  danger  grave,"  he  said, 

"  I  hasten  to  reach  my  little  boat, 

Below  on  the  stream  it  is  now  afloat, 

But  say  to  the  British  when  they  reach  here, 

That  I  took  the  other  path,  my  dear." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  little  maiden,  "  nay, 
You  must  not  ask  me  to  do  that  way, 
Why  do  you  tell  me  which  way  you  go, 
When  I  should  not  tell  a  lie,  you  know?" 
And  yielding  at  once  to  her  anxious  fears, 
Poor  Hetty  burst  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

The  Governor  spake  with  bated  breath: 
"  Would  you  give  your  cousin  away  to  death, 
My  only  hope  is  to  turn  them  back, 
Their  search  to  make  on  another  track, 
So  tell  them  I  fled  by  the  other  way, 
And  Heaven  will  bless  you  many  a  day." 

The  Puritan  maiden  quickly  replied, 
"  Heaven  would  not  bless  me,  if  I  lied, 
But  though  they  kill  me,  they  shall  not  know 
From  me,  the  direction  which  you  go, 
But  stay,  good  cousin,  why  further  fly  ? 
Hide  under  my  web,  which  is  spread  to  dry. 

Quick,  I  will  cover  you  safely  o'er, 
And  sprinkle  my  linen  as  before." 
There  was  little  time  to  discuss  the  plan, 
Less  chance  of  safety  if  on  he  ran 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  29 

For  over  the  hill  at  once  they  knew 
A  band  of  Tories  appeared  in  view. 

The  party  halted  beside  the  maid, 

The  voice  of  the  leader  roughly  said: 

"Child,  have  you  seen  a  man  to-day, 

Running  as  if  for  life  away  ?" 

Poor  little  Hetty  paled  with  fear, 

But  answered  "Yes  "  in  a  voice  quite  clear. 

"  Which  way  did  he  go  ?     Now  answer  well," 
Said  Hetty:  "  I  promised  not  to  tell," 
"You  shall,"  screamed  the  leader  with  an  oath, 
"  Or  soon  by  Heaven  I'll  hang  you  both." 
But  Hetty  sobbed:  "  I  have  promised  fair, 
That  though  you  killed  me,  I'd  not  tell  where." 

Then  another  spake  in  a  voice  more  mild 
"  This  is  Hetty  Marvin,  I  know  the  child, 
This  man  is  your  mother's  cousin,  dear, 
We  are  friends  of  his,  so  you  need  not  fear, 
But  what  did  he  say  ?     Tell  us  all  you  can 
We  can  help  him  more,  if  we  know  his  plan." 

Now  Hetty  was  not  at  all  deceived, 

But  answered  as  though  she  at  once  believed, 

"  He  said  he  desired  to  reach  his  boat, 

Which  down  the  river  was  then  afloat, 

But  wanted  me,  when  you  came,  to  say 

That  he  had  gone  up  the  other  way." 


3O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

"  Why  didn't  you  answer  as  you  were  told, 

When  I  asked  you  ?"  thundered  the  leader  bold, 

"  Good  sir,  I  could  never  tell  a  lie," 

Said  Hetty,  wiping  a  tearful  eye, 

"  Then  tell  me  truly,"  the  Tory  said 

"  What  were  his  parting  words,  good  maid  ? " 

So  Hetty  answered,  with  half  a  frown 
"  His  only  chance  was  to  hasten  down, 
He  said,"  and  trembling  still  with  fright, 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  apron  white, 
They  fancied  there  was  no  need  to  stay, 
And  the  British  tories  rode  away. 

When  night  her  mantel  of  darkness  spread, 
O'er  hill  and  valley  and  river  bed, 
The  boat  was  signalled  again  to  shore, 
And  the  Governor  floated  swiftly  o'er, 
To  a  shelter  safe,  where  he  well  might  bless 
His  shrewd  little  cousin's  truthfulness. 


LEGENDARY   POEMS.  3! 


WINGLESS  BIRDS. 

THERE  is  an  ancient  legend, 
A  myth  of  many  words, 
Which  tells  us  the  Creator 

When  he  had  formed  the  birds, 
Laid  down  their  wings  beside  them 
And  said:  "Your  burdens  know, 
Take  up,  and  bear  them  bravely, 
And  you  shall  stronger  grow." 

They  lifted  them  and  bound  them 

One  upon  either  side, 
A  burden  great  and  heavy, 

They  could  not  seek  to  hide: 
They  held  them  close  and  bore  them 

As  something  wisely  sent, 
While  forth  to  do  life's  duties 

In  cheerfulness  they  went. 

Time  passed,  and  they  no  longer 

With  halting  steps  must  run, 
But  borne  on  strong,  swift  pinions 

They  soared  to  meet  the  sun: 
They  soared  and  sang  together 

Above  their  low  estate, 
Uplifted  by  the  burdens 

Which  once  had  seemed  so  great. 


32  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

May  we  not  learn  the  lesson 

Of  sorrow  sent  in  love  ? 
Of  burdens  which  shall  lift  us 

As  wings  bear  up  the  dove  ? 
Of  trials  changed  to  triumphs 

Along  the  path  we  trod 
Which  kept  our  feet  from  straying, 

And  drew  us  nearer  God  ? 

Then  shrink  not  from  the  sorrow, 

The  burden  bravely  bear, 
By  faith  and  patience  girded, 

Thou  shalt  not  know  despair, 
The  sorrow,  though  so  crushing, 

The  burden,  though  so  great 
On  eagle's  wings  shall  bear  thee 

To  reach  thy  high  estate. 


THE  PILGRIMS. 

A  BAND  of  pilgrims  came  one  day, 
All  bowed  and  wrinkled,  worn  and  gray, 
Beside  an  ancient  shrine  to  pray. 

A  sacred  shrine,  which  seemed  to  stand 
A  lonely  landmark  in  the  land, 
By  purest  breezes  gently  fanned. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  33 

From  crowded  cities  far  apart, 
Or  noisy  streets  or  busy  mart, 
Yet  held  in  many  a  loyal  heart. 

Back  from  its  base  uprose  the  hills, 
Whose  calm,  majestic  grandeur  thrills 
The  spirit,  and  with  rapture  fills. 

The  wide,  cool  meadows  stretched  below, 
Whose  peaceful  beauty  seemed  to  glow, 
Through  summer's  green  or  winter's  snow. 

And  all  about  the  hallowed  spot, 
On  sunny  slopes  or  shaded  grot, 
Bloomed  out  the  blue  forget-me-not. 

Together,  clasping  hand  in  hand, 
In  silence  knelt  that  pilgrim  band, 
With  faces  bowed  toward  the  sand. 

Then  suddenly,  o'er  each  one  fell 
A  weird  enchantment,  like  a  spell, 
With  visions  which  no  tongue  can  tell. 

And  backward  swept  the  tide  of  years, 
Concealing  all  life's  cares  and  fears, 
Its  disappointments,  sorrows,  tears. 

And  gliding  through  the  sunset's  glow, 
Advanced  with  stately  steps  and  slow, 
The  loved,  of  fifty  years  ago. 


34  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

As  through  the  moonlight  stars  appear, 
So  one  by  one,  to  each  drew  near 
The  face,  once  held,  of  all  most  dear. 

Not  all  were  lover's  faces  true, 
For  some  had  lost  the  morning  dew 
Of  youth  and  beauty,  ever  new. 

But  each,  in  that  dim  long-a-go 
Had  held  supremest  place,  and  lo! 
Each  stood  transfigured  in  the  glow. 

The  years  were  naught,  whose  toil  and  care 
Had  furrowed  cheeks,  once  smooth  and  fair, 
And  bleached  to  snow,  the  darkest  hair. 

It  mattered  not,  that  most  were  laid, 
Long  years  before,  beneath  the  shade 
The  lilies  of  the  valley  made. 

Fresh  as  the  dawn,  and  fair  and  sweet, 
With  shining  eyes,  and  noiseless  feet, 
They  came,  the  early  loved  to  greet. 

Then  hope  revived,  where  hope  was  dead, 
And  joy  returned,  where  joy  had  fled, 
And  youth  crowned  every  hoary  head. 

Not  to  the  outer  world  displayed 
The  peace,  which  on  the  soul  was  laid 
By  quickened  pulses  half  betrayed. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  35 

But  they  who  went  their  separate  ways, 
With  grateful  hearts  gave  God  the  praise, 
Strengthened  for  many  coming  days. 

And  turning  from  the  hallowed  place, 
Went  forth  with  added  joy  and  grace, 
Love's  glory  shining  in  each  face. 


PERFECTION. 

SUMMONED  before  their  mighty  king, 
The  cunning  workmen  came, 
The  sculptors  who  for  wondrous  skill 
Had  won  immortal  fame. 

"Ye  have  done  well,"  the  monarch  said, 

But  much  indeed  remains, 
For  Art,  through  patient  toil  alone, 

Perfection  e'er  attains. 

Not  simple  good,  perfection  now 
Your  lawful  sovereign  claims, 

Go  forth,  and  labor  for  this  end, 
Content  with  no  low  aims. 

Bring  me  the  finished  work  your  hands 
Through  faithful  years  have  wrought, 

The  faultless  marble,  by  your  skill 
To  full  perfection  brought." 


36  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Forth  from  the  presence  of  their  king, 
The  workmen  slowly  passed, 

With  silent  tongues  and  clouded  brows 
And  spirits  overcast, 


But  murmured  when  among  themselves, 
"In  vain  our  skill  or  strength, 

What  shall  it  profit  that  we  toil 
For  years,  to  fail  at  length  ? 

"  No  perfect  work  hath  mortal  hand 
E'er  wrought  beneath  the  sun, 

And  farther  from  our  grasp  it  seems, 
Than  when  we  first  begun." 


But  one  (a  loyal,  loving  heart, 
Though  humble)  made  reply, 

"Our  master  hath  commanded  us, 
Indeed,  we  can  but  try." 

Then  earnestly  his  task  begun, 

And  diligently  wrought, 
While  day  by  day,  in  beauty  grew 

The  marvel  which  he  sought. 

But  to  his  practised  eye,  defects, 
By  others  passed  unseen, 

Appeared  his  work  to  mar,  and  rose 
His  hope  and  him  between. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  37 

And  when  his  years  of  toil  were  passed, 

And  he  was  called  to  bring 
His  statue  for  the  king's  delight, 

He  came  but  sorrowing. 

"  Dear  master,  I  have  tried,"  he  said, 

"The  best  my  hand  can  do 
Demands  but  pardon  for  its  faults, 

My  gracious  king,  from  you." 

The  monarch  smiled  approvingly, 

And  touched  the  polished  stone, 
When  lo!  the  chiseled  form  at  once, 

With  full  perfection  shone. 

Thus  vainly,  through  the  years  we  strive, 

A  character  to  bring, 
Of  faultless  symmetry  to  Him, 

Our  well-beloved  King. 

By  evil  marred,  through  stains  of  sin 

Its  beauties  dimly  shine, 
And  evermore  perfection  waits 

The  touch  of  the  Divine. 


38  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


BESSIE. 

AN    INCIDENT    OF    THE    WAR    OF    THE    REBELLION. 

SHE  stood  by  the  President's  elbow — 
"  Well,  what  do  you  want,  my  child  ?" 
Said  the  busy,  good  man,  gravely, 
As  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  smiled. 

"  My  brother,"  half-whispered  Bessie, 

"  He  is  to  be  shot  to-day, 
1  have  come  to  beg  for  his  pardon, 

You  will  not  send  me  away  ?" 

"Your  brother?   Ah!  yes,  I  remember, 

I  am  sorry  it  must  be  so, 
But  a  thousand  lives  were  endangered, 

He  slept  at  his  post,  you  know. 

"And  this  is  a  time  of  trouble, 

You  scarcely  can  understand, 
The  dead  and  the  dying  are  many, 

And  sorrow  all  over  the  land." 

"  He  slept,  but  only  a  moment, 

He  had  marched  all  day,  you  know, 

And  carried  his  comrade's  knapsack, 
With  his,  through  the  mud  and  snow. 


LEGENDARY   POEMS.  39 

"And  it  was'nt  his  night  to  be  sentry, 

But  his  comrade  felt  so  bad, 
He  thought  him  quite  to  ill  to  stand, 

So  he  took  his  place,  poor  lad. 

"  He  never  knew  how  it  happened, 

He  meant  to  have  kept  awake, 
He  wrote  all  about  it  to  papa, 

And  the  letter,  please,  you  may  take." 

The  President  read  the  letter, 

Tears  brimming  his  clear,  gray  eyes, 

And  said,  "why,  the  boy  is  a  hero, 
And  worthy  to  win  a  prize. 


"  The  boy  who  could  write  such  a  letter, 
So  honest  and  full  of  good-will, 

So  loyal  to  country  and  comrade — 
That  country  has  need  of  him  still." 

He  hurriedly  scribbled  a  message, 
And  sent  with  the  greatest  speed — 

A  message  of  peace  and  pardon 
To  one  in  the  sorest  need. 

And  turning  to  still,  tearful  Bessie, 
His  hand  lightly  laid  on  her  head — 

"Be  patient,  my  little  one,  waiting, 
Your  brother  is  safe  now,"  he  said. 


4O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

"  Rest  here,  in  my  quietest  corner, 
Be  happy,  the  hours  will  be  few, 

And  when  you  return  home  this  evening, 
Your  brother  shall  go  with  you." 

Curled  up  on  the  President's  sofa, 
Who  gentlest  watch  over  her  kept, 

Amid  the  affairs  of  the  nation, 
The  little  girl  quietly  slept. 

When  night  spread  her  shadowy  curtain, 
The  moon  and  the  stars  looking  down 

Saw  the  child  and  her  soldier  brother, 
Fast  speeding  away  from  the  town. 

And  through  the  long,  terrible  conflict, 
No  friends  of  the  Union  more  true 

Than  Bessie,  whose  love  saved  her  brother, 
And  her  brother,  who  still  wore  the  blue. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  4! 


SEVEN  WISE  MEN. 

HAVE  you  heard  of  "seven  wise  men  of  Greece," 
And  the  legend  strange  if  true, 
Of  the  golden  tripod  in  their  nets, 

Some  fishers,  fishing  drew  ? 
The  golden  tripod  cast  away, 
By  the  hand  of  Helen  fair, 
Who  sailed  from  Troy,  long  years  ago, 
In  sorrow  and  dispair. 

Have  you  heard  that  as  they  drew  their  net, 

And  thus  the  prize  obtained, 
They  quarreled,  each  with  each,  to  know 

Who  had  the  treasure  gained  ? 
And  they  brought  the  mystic,  golden  seat, 

To  the  temple,  quaint  and  old, 
Of  the  Archer-god,  for  light  and  law, 

The  priestess  might  unfold. 

"To  the  wisest  man  throughout  all  Greece, 

You  shall  give,"  the  priestess  said — 
So  to  Bias,  famed  for  learning  great, 

The  seat  at  once  was  sped. 
But  the  old  Greek  savan  stoutly  claimed 

That  another  was  more  wise, 
And  only  Solon,  he  declared, 

In  truth  could  claim  the  prize. 


42  AUTUMN   LEAVES. 

To  the  wisest  seven  men,  it  passed, 

And  they  each  and  all  disclaimed 
The  right,  to  own  the  precious  gift, 

Or  to  be  for  wisdom  famed. 
And  again  the  fishers  in  dispair 

To  the  temple,  bore  the  seat, 
Where  it  found  a  quiet  resting-place 

At  the  great  Appolo's  feet. 

And  for  years,  that  voiceless  oracle, 

To  the  world,  the  lesson  taught 
That  the  wisest  ever  humblest  are, 

While  fools  are  found  unsought. 
And  still  the  truth  remains  unchanged, 

For  the  wise  of  every  age 
Are  the  unpretending  of  their  class, 

Whether  scholar,  priest  or  sage. 


ELIAB. 

COMMUNING  with  his  own  great  heart, 
Eliab  thought  to  dwell  apart 
From  others,  filling  all  his  days, 
With  sacrifice  of  prayer  and  praise. 

Learned  in  all  wisdom  of  the  wise, 
Possessing  wealth  he  well  might  prize, 
His  sated  soul  grew  dark  within 
By  pondering  on  earth's  wrong  and  sin. 


LEGENDARY   POEMS.  43 

"  This  life  is  worthless  all,  and  vain, 
My  heart  is  sick  with  bitter  pain  " 
He  said.  "  The  ages  that  have  been, 
Like  this  dark  age,  are  full  of  sin. 


"  I  care  not  longer  to  behold, 
The  wretchedness  the  years  enfold, 
Men  toil  and  struggle,  strive  and  cry, 
Availing  nought !  I  would  but  die," 

An  aged  priest,  a  holy  man, 
Discerning  dimly  God's  great  plan, 
An  herb  of  healing  brought,  and  laid 
Upon  Eliab's  palm  and  said: 

"  Brother  beloved,  go  forth,  and  bear 
This  herb  of  healing  virtues  rare, 
To  wreched  homes.     When  seven  men 
Are  healed,  I'll  come  to  thee  again." 

Eliab  turned  his  steps  within 
The  homes  of  misery  and  sin, 
Where  poverty  and  crime  and  pain, 
On  human  hearts  left  darkest  stain. 

And  as  he  went  from  door  to  door, 
His  wealth  bore  comforts  to  the  poor, 
The  ignorant  his  wisdom  learned, 
The  sad  to  him  for  solace  turned. 


44  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  sick  rejoiced  in  health  anew, 
The  friendless  in  a  friend  so  true, 
But  when  were  healed  the  seven  men, 
The  priest  sought  Eliab  again. 

"I  bring  to  thee  the  herb  of  death, 
Since  thou  art  weary  of  thy  breath," 
He  said,  "  for  heaven  has  heard  thy  cry, 
And  if  thou  wilt,  thou  may'est  die." 

"  Nay,  God  forbid!"  Eliab  cried, 
"It  shames  me  that  I  would  have  died, 
Ere  kindly  deed  my  hand  had  done, 
Or  life  worth  living  had  begun. 

"The  way  so  dark,  grows  bright  to  me, 
Life's  use  and  meaning  now  I  see. 
Who  loves  and  seeks  to  do  God's  will, 
Must  love  and  serve  his  brother  still. 

"  Reach  other  lives,  with  outstretched  hand 

Lift  up  the  fallen,  help  them  stand, 

Put  selfish  joy  and  ease  aside 

To  save  the  souls  for  whom  Christ  died." 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  45 


THE  WHITE  ELEPHANT. 


LONG  years  ago  the  Hindoos  say 
Wise  Buddha  walked  the  earth 
Slow-paced  and  strong,  with  velvet  feet, 
A  life  sustained  and  calm  and  sweet 
But  not  of  human  birth. 


Submitted  to  the  hand  of  man, 

As  one  of  humbler  state, 
With  patience  bore  the  whip  and  thong, 
In  silence  suffered  scorn  and  wrong, 

Thus  growing  truly  great. 


And  when  the  wheel  of  fate  revolved 

He  came  to  earth  again, 
A  princely  soul,  in  princely  form, 
With  heart  most  loving,  true  and  warm, 
A  blessing  to  all  men. 


The  beauty  of  self-sacrifice 

For  other's  good,  he  taught, 
The  peace  which  patience  may  attain, 
The  strength  and  sweetness  born  of  pain, 
The  joy  of  service  wrought. 


46  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Though  fatal  errors  marred  his  creed, 

Enough  of  truth  remained 
To  write,  as  with  an  iron  pen, 
For  ages  on  the  hearts  of  men, 
The  lesson  it  contained. 


And  still  his  million  votaries 

With  pious  awe  adore 
The  form,  tradition  makes  his  own, 
Wherein  he  walked  the  earth  unknown, 

As  sacred  evermore. 


THE  OLD  CLOCK'S  STORY. 

A  HUNDRED  years  I  have  stood  by  the  wall, 
So  dark  and  massive,  solemn  and  tall, 
To  tell  the  old,  how  the  years  go  by, 
To  tell  the  young,  how  the  moments  fly, 
And  ticking,  ticking,  steadily,  slow, 
Have  swung  my  pendulum  to  and  fro. 


My  face  is  yellowed  and  marred  and  old, 
My  hands  are  dull,  which  have  been  like  gold, 
My  voice  rings  out,  as  it  did  in  youth, 
And  still  I  am  able  to  tell  the  truth, 
A  valued  gift,  which  I  must  confess, 
Some  clocks  and  men,  do  not  now  possess. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  47 

My  maker,  owner,  was  tall  and  slim, 
And  fine  of  features,  and  strong  of  limb, 
A  skillful  workman,  an  honest  man 
Who  fashioned  me  on  the  self-same  plan. 
Ah!  me,  the  changes  which  I  have  seen, 
For  fifty  years  has  his  grave  been  green. 

It  seems  but  a  day,  since  full  of  grace, 
He  brought  his  bride  to  behold  my  face; 
She  smiled  on  me  with  a  child's  delight 
And  touched  my  hands  with  her  own,  so  white, 
She  sang  my  praisies  from  year  to  year, 
And  never  a  word  of  blame  would  hear. 

The  time  passed  on  and  the  children  came, 
A  noisy  group.     I  could  call  by  name, 
Six  noble  sons,  who  to  manhood  grew, 
They  loved  me  well  and  each  other  too, 
I  ticked  my  warning  and  tried  to  save, 
But  one  went  down  to  a  drunkard's  grave. 

Four  beautiful  girls  were  my  delight, 

So  healthy,  happy,  rosy  and  bright, 

They  worked  and  romped  and  chatted  and  sang, 

The  plain  old  rooms  with  their  music  rang, 

They  heard  my  call,  with  the  morning's  light, 

They  said  their  prayers  in  my  ears  at  night. 

And  one  by  one,  they  blossomed  and  grew 
To  lovely  womanhood  pure  and  true, 
And  one  by  one,  they  went  forth  to  shine 
In  homes  still  brighter  and  fairer  than  mine, 


48  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Till  only  the  youngest  remained  to  bless 
A  mother's  heart  with  her  fond  caress. 


Too  well  I  remember  the  sorrowful  hour, 
When  sickness  blighted  our  beautiful  flower, 
I  watched  her  cheek  with  its  fever  stain, 
And  hushed  my  voice  to  lighten  her  pain. 
The  flying  moments  I  strove  to  stay, 
To  lengthen  the  life  fast  ebbing  away. 

But  all  in  vain,  for  they  bore  her  away, — 
The  sun  seemed  darkened  for  many  a  day, 
My  voice  rang  strangely  amid  the  gloom, 
The  quiet  house  and  the  lonely  room, 
The  listening  mourners  sadly  said 
"  The  old  clock's  tolling  for  the  dead." 

The  years  rolled  on,  I  sounded  their  knell, 
At  last  in  flames  the  old  house  fell, 
But  I  was  saved  to  a  happier  fate, 
Still  ticking  the  moments  early  and  late, 
To  link  with  memory's  golden  chain 
The  buried  past  and  the  present  again. 

And  still  I  am  standing,  stately  and  tall, 

But  polished  anew  for  the  newer  hall, 

A  family  relic,  cherished  with  pride, 

The  grandchildren's  children  throng  my  side, 

And  listen  and  call  in  accents  sweet, 

To  hear  the  story  which  I  repeat. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  49 


THE  CLAY  SPARROW. 

A    LEGEND. 

HAVE  you  ever  heard  the  story 
Which  old  Icelanders  tell, 
A  legend  of  the  Christ-child 

Who  used  on  earth  to  dwell  ? 
How  that,  playing  with  his  comrades 

One  sunny,  summer's  day, 
They  fashioned  little  sparrows, 
From  soft  and  yielding  clay. 

And  perchance,  they  blocked  the  side-walk, 

(As  little  children  will,) 
In  eager  zeal  to  cherish 

Such  tokens  of  their  skill, 
For  a  dignified  old  Rabbi 

Swept  grandly  by  the  place, 
And  scattered  all  their  treasures, 

With  scorn  upon  his  face. 

All  the  little  birds  were  broken 

And  cast  into  the  street, 
Where  sure  destruction  waited, 

Beneath  the  passer's  feet, 
And  the  children  fell  to  grieving, 

With  angry  words  and  noise, 
And  sobs  of  real  sorrow, 

Above  their  broken  toys. 


5O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Then  the  heart  of  the  Child-Jesus, 

By  tender  pity  stirred, 
Awoke  in  sweet  compassion 

As  he  their  sorrow  heard, 
And  filled  with  power  unconscious, 

With  gesture  of  command 
Above  the  broken  fragments 

He  waved  his  childish  hand. 

And  behold,  a  wondrous  marvel, 

Which  every  tear  might  dry, 
Each  little  bird  flew  singing 

And  soaring  to  the  sky; 
For  the  lifeless  clay  was  quickened, 

By  his  unuttered  thought, 
Who  woke  the  worlds  to  being, 

And  earth  from  chaos  brought. 

Now  we  do  not  think  this  legend 

Is  like  our  scriptures  true, 
But  there  are  greater  marvels 

Which  our  good  Christ  can  do. 
For  the  spirits  marred  and  broken, 

The  hearts  all  stained  with  sin, 
He  changes  to  his  likeness, 

And  sets  his  peace  within. 

And  at  last,  when  these  frail  bodies 
Have  lived  their  little  day, 

And  touched  by  the  Destroyer 
Shall  fall  like  broken  clay, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  51 

At  the  voice  of  this  dear  Saviour 

The  spirits  shall  arise 
And  robed  in  life  immortal, 

Soar  heavenward  through  the  skies. 


SI-LING 

OR   THE    RADIANT   ONE. 

"TMS  the  Chinese  tell  the  story, 

1       Of  a  spirit  wondrous  fair, 

Who  once  left  her  home  in  glory, 

Earthly  wants  and  woes  to  share, 
Came  and  dwelt  with  royal  Hwong-Ti, 

As  the  empress  of  the  land; 
But  no  selfish  empress  was  she, 

Thus  to  rule  with  idle  hand. 

Not  to  be  a  stately  lily, 

In  the  royal,  ivory  chair, 
But  to  help  the  poor,  who  illy 

All  their  griefs  and  burdens  bear; 
And  the  sick  and  heavy-hearted 

To  make  glad  with  hope  and  peace 
While  the  dying  ones  departed 

Full  of  joy  at  their  release. 

And  she  taught  the  art  of  spinning 
Silks  and  wools  of  brilliant  dyes, 

With  her  own  deft  fingers  winning, 
For  the  richest  robe,  the  prize. 


52  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Taught  the  dignity  of  labor, 
For  the  rich  as  well  as  poor, 

Thus  to  help  each  humble  neighbor 
Every  burden  to  endure. 

But  alas!  for  human  nature, 

There  were  envious,  then  as  now, 
There  were  jealous,  who  would  hate  her 

Nor  to  her  mild  scepter  bow; 
'Till  at  length,  her  purest  action 

Became  subject,  in  their  eyes, 
For  suspicion  and  detraction, 

And  she  sought  again  the  skies. 

Thus  she  left  them,  but  the  treasure 

Of  her  noble  life  remained, 
Freely  given  without  measure 

Was  the  good  they  had  obtained; 
For  the  useful  arts  still  flourish, 

Which  her  skillful  hand  supplied, 
And  the  mulberry  was  nourished 

With  the  tea-plant,  side  by  side. 

From  the  "  Kingdom  of  the  Sages," 

With  their  legend  lore  enwrought, 
Ever  brighter  through  the  ages 

Shines  the  truth  our  Saviour  taught, — 
That  the  life  of  high  or  lowly 

May  be  purer  than  earth's  pelf, 
And  the  sacrifice  most  holy 

Is  the  sacrifice  of  self. 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  53 


THE  MOSS  ROSE. 

THERE  is  an  old,  sweet  story  told, 
No  doubt  you've  heard  the  same, 
To  minister  to  human  needs, 
An  angel  earthward  came, 
And,  wearied,  lay  one  summer's  day 

Beneath  the  rose  tree's  shade; 

To  win  refreshment  from  fatigue, 

His  lengthened  journey  made. 

With  soothing  spell  the  shadows  fell,, 

And  restful  coolness  lent, 
While  gentle  slumbers  o'er  him  stole 

With  sweetest  odors  blent — 
Refreshed  he  rose,  and  for  repose 

His  gratitude  to  prove, 
Desired  some  parting  gift  to  leave 

In  token  of  his  love. 

The  rose  replied,  with  an  air  of  pride, 

"Your  wondrous  powers  I  know — 
From  out  your  boundless  stores  on  me 

Another  grace  bestow." 
With  smiling  face,  in  swift  embrace, 

The  angel  nearer  drew, 
And  o'er  each  stem  and  bud  and  bloom 

A  veil  of  moss  he  threw. 


54  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  charm  it  lent,  the  lesson  meant, 

Is  free  to  great  and  small — 
That  beauty  should  be  lowly  still, 

For  God  bestoweth  all. 
Then  let  us  pore  this  legend  o'er 

And  of  its  good  take  part, 
The  added  grace  we  ever  need 

Is  humbleness  of  heart. 


THE  TRUE  CROSS. 

'HTMS  said,  the  mother — wise  and  good- 

1       Of  Constantine  the  Great, 
Bent  on  a  pious  pilgrimage, 

Once  left  her  high  estate, 
And  through  the  paths  of  Palestine 

Wandered  with  weary  feet, 
Searching  for  tokens  of  her  Lord 

The  unfamiliar  street; 

And  grieved  to  note,  how  time  and  man 

Had  swept,  with  ruthless  hand, 
The  frail  memorials  of  his  love 

From  that  once  favored  land. 
Yet  found,  amid  the  debris,  where 

Tradition  marked  his  doom, 
Three  crosses,  rude  reminders  left 

Of  hour  of  darkest  gloom. 


LEGENDARY   POEMS.  55 

But  which  the  sacred  wood,  whereon 

Her  bleeding  Savior  died  ? 
"  How  shall  I  know  the  true  and  false  ?" 

In  bitterness  she  cried. 
Ere  long,  from  one,  such  healing  power 

As  every  doubt  removed, 
Revealed  His  touch,  who,  living  still, 

The  great  physician  proved. 

Oh!  Christian  mothers,  everywhere, 

Who  seek  the  good  and  true — 
The  legend  of  the  healing  cross 

Its  lesson  has  for  you. 
The  patient,  faithful  mother's  love, 

By  long  night-watches  tried, 
Through  time  and  change,  unchanging  still, 

In  blessings  shall  abide. 

The  healing  touch  of  tender  hands 

Which  soothed  the  brow  of  pain, 
The  balm  of  cheering  words,  which  fell 

Like  showers  of  summer  rain — 
These  shall  their  own  rich  fruitage  bear, 

Through  time  and  change  and  loss; 
And  unto  watchful  eyes  reveal 

Life's  dearest,  holiest  cross. 


56  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


THE   COMMON   LOT. 

A    WEEPING  woman,  so  the  Hindoos  say, 
f\     Half-crazed  with  grief,  to  Buddha  came  one  day, 

And  cried  in  accents  wild, 
"Oh!  bring  to  life  my  child, 
My  boy,  my  only  one, 
Who  died  at  set  of  sun. 

"For  thou,  oh!  holy  prophet,  thou  hast  power 
To  bring  again  to  life  this  faded  flower. 

Wilt  thou  not  heal  this  pain, 

These  tears  which  fall  like  rain, 

This  heart  bereft  of  joy? 

Oh!  give  me  back  my  boy!  " 

Then  long  and  pityingly  the  prophet  gazed 
Upon  the  stricken  form,  and  gently  raised 

The  drooping,  grief-bowed  head, 

As  tenderly  he  said, 
"Aye,  thou  shalt  find  relief 

And  solace  for  thy  grief. 

"Go  forth,  my  daughter,  'mid  the  homes  of  men, 
And  when  thy  task  is  done,  return  again, 

Bringing  black  mustard  seed — 

Fruit  of  a  pungent  weed — 

Gathered,  it  matters  not, 

Tn  palace  or  in  cot, 


LEGENDARY    POEMS.  57 

"  So  that  thou  bring  it,  from  the  favored  home, 
Into  whose  circle  death  has  never  come. 

This  trophy  bring  to  me, 

And  thou  shalt  surely  see, 

From  the  mist-shrouded  shore, 

Thy  lost  return  once  more." 

Forth  went  the  mother  on  her  eager  quest, 

Sped  North  and  South,  and  hurried  East  and  West, 

In  every  home  she  stood, 

As  one  who  begs  for  food, 
"Oh!  give  me,  in  my  need, 

One  grain  of  mustard  seed, 

"  And  I  will  bear  it  to  the  prophet  wise, 
For  he  with  it  can  open  death-sealed  eyes. 

Kind  friends,  are  ye  all  here, 

Father  and  mother  dear, 

And  wife  and  child  and  slave  ? 

For  only  thus  'twill  save." 

The  poor  are  pitiful,  and  everywhere 
They  freely  offered  of  their  store  a  share, 

But  answered  with  a  tear, 
"  Nay,  death  is  ever  near, 

And  many  loved  have  flown, 

We  wait  almost  alone. 

"  For  earth  is  full  of  weariness  and  pain, 
And  he  who  sows  the  seed  reaps  not  the  grain. 

The  wide  world,  with  thy  grief, 

Seeks  vainly  for  relief, 


58  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

And  for  thy  human  woe 
Tears  will  forever  flow." 


Then  slowly  o'er  her  selfish  sorrow  rose 
A  tender  pity  for  the  great  world's  woes, 
A  patient,  painless  calm 
Fell  on  her  heart  like  balm, 
And  peace,  God's  peace,  came  down, 
Her  barren  life  to  crown. 


BY  THE  SEA. 


"  CITY  OF  WACO." 

The  steamship  City  of  Waco,  was  burned  off  Galveston,  November  8th,  1875. 
Every  soul  on  board  perished. 

A    BLACK  and  rayless  night 
/-\     Hung  o'er  the  deep  its  pall, 
Moonless  and  starless  stretched  the  sky, 
Its  canopy  o'er  all. 

The  ships,  which  all  day  long 

Had  sped,  like  swift-winged  birds, 

Rocked  idly  on  the  sullen  waves, 
With  sails  by  breeze  unstirred. 

The  listening  sailor  heard 

Only  the  loon's  wild  cry, 
Or  sea-gull,  shrieking  to  its  mate, 

Lost  in  the  darkness  nigh. 

The  watching  sailor  saw 

Only  the  warning  light 
On  distant  headlands,  gleaming  o'er 

The  rock-reefs  sunk  from  sight. 

But  soon,  athwart  the  sky, 

The  forked  lightnings  flash, 
And  following  swift,  the  thunders  boom, 

And  shake  with  sudden  crash. 


62  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  winds  responsive  shriek, 
Or  sob  with  mournful  wail, 

The  waves  in  foaming  fury  rise, 
Lashed  by  the  angry  gale. 

The  ships  plunge  madly  now, 
Their  cables  tug  and  strain, 

As  if  the  demons  of  the  deep 
Strove  hard  to  break  the  chain. 


Oh!  watchman,  at  your  post, 

Amid  this  midnight  storm, 
What  added  terror  pales  your  cheek 

And  shakes  your  stalwart  form? 

Behold,  a  ship  on  fire! 

No  timely  warning  came, 
But  swiftly  deck  and  spar  and  mast 

Were  wrapped  in  sheeted  flame. 

Tossed  on  the  billows  high, 

Plunged  neath  the  foaming  tide, 

No  floods  the  angry  flames  could  quench, 
Nor  could  the  waters  hide. 

High  towering  toward  the  sky, 

A  vast  funereal  pyre, 
The  heavens  their  tears  in  torrents  poured, 

But  could  not  quench  the  fire. 


BY   THE    SEA.  63 


No  friendly  arm  could  reach, 
No  pitying  hand  could  save — 

A  blazing  star  lit  up  the  night, 
A  meteor  on  the  wave. 

What  of  the  human  freight 
That  good  ship  proudly  bore  ? 

Hark!  how  the  eager  cry  rings  out 
From  distant  homes  on  shore. 

What  of  the  living  souls 

Who  went  from  homes  of  love, 

And  trusted  that  the  winds  and  waves 
Would  willing  servants  prove  ? 


Ask  not  the  stormy  wind, 

Ask  not  the  hungry  wave, 
Though  high  the  angry  waters  swept, 

And  wide  the  yawning  grave. 

But  ask  that  giant  king 

Whose  tongues  of  flame  combine 
To  lap  the  salt  waves  from  her  deck, 

And  drink  her  blood,  like  wine. 

Who  bars  the  cabin  doors 
With  flaming  walls  so  high, 

And  smothers  in  his  fiery  arms 
Each  anguish-riven  cry. 


64  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Only  the  watchman  saw, 
Amid  the  blinding  storm, 

Clinging  to  broken  spar  or  mast, 
The  wraith  of  human  form. 


Only  the  watchman  heard, 

From  out  the  storm  and  flame, 

The  voice  of  those  who  cried  for  help, 
For  help  which  never  came. 

The  grasping  sea  gave  back 
To  those  who  watched  it  well, 

Of  all  who  knew  the  fearful  tale, 
No  living  tongue  to  tell. 

Only  the  blackened  forms 

The  furnace  could  not  melt; 
Only  the  marred  and  ruined  shrines, 

Where  love  and  joy  once  dwelt. 

The  morning  rose  at  last, 

Serenely  still  and  fair; 
The  Storm-King,  vanquished  for  the  time, 

Crept  to  his  hidden  lair. 

The  sun  revealed  his  face 

O'er  distant  hill-tops  bright, 
The  sea,  repentant,  wept  her  tears 

In  rainbow  hues  of  light. 


BY   THE   SEA.  65 

And  thus,  in  Heaven's  clear  light, 

Earth's  shadows  flee  away, 
And  thus  shall  dawn,  on  death's  dark  night, 

Immortal  life's  pure  day. 


SEA   DREAMS. 

ON  a  lone  rock  beside  the  sea 
I  mused,  and  watched  afar 
The  white-caps  dashing  in  their  glee 
Across  the  sandy  bar. 

Beside  me  stretched  the  long,  low  shore 
Where  sand  and  ocean  meet  ; 

The  waves  rolled  in  with  ceaseless  roar, 
And  broke  beneath  my  feet. 

Across  the  far  horizon  lay 

A  gold  and  crimson  sky  ; 
The  cloud- robes,  which  the  dying  day, 

Departing,  had  cast  by. 

Slow-sailing  ships  before  me  passed, 
With  white  wings  widely  spread, 

As  silently  as  shadows  cast 
By  summer  clouds  o'erhead. 


66  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

From  East,  from  West,  they  nearer  drew, 
And  crossed  before  my  sight, 

Then  noiseless  faded  from  my  view, 
Into  the  gathering  night. 

I  thought,  what  isles  of  beauty  wait 
Each  vessel's  devious  way  ; 

What  golden  morns  and  sunsets  late 
Shall  gild  each  coming  day. 

What  marts  of  trade,  what  ports  of  peace 
Their  wings  shall  hover  near  ; 

What  gold  and  gems  their  wealth  increase, 
What  welcomes  give  them  cheer. 

Perchance,  what  unseen  dangers  hide, 
From  which  no  skill  can  save  ; 

What  wreck  and  ruin  grimly  ride 
Upon  the  storm-tossed  wave. 

Ah!  me,  how  many  yet  will  find 

In  ocean  depths  a  tomb, 
Nor  know  the  snares  of  fate  unkind, 

Which  drew  them  to  their  doom. 


One  little  moment  o'er  their  path 

I  cast  an  anxious  eye, 
But  know  not  what  the  future  hath 

Of  storm  or  sunny  sky. 


BY   THE    SEA.  67 

The  sea  spread  wide  her  billowy  waste, 

The  genii  of  the  night 
Its  pall  of  darkness  drew  in  haste, 

To  shut  them  from  my  sight. 

Thus  life  spreads  out,  through  winding  ways, 

Whose  end  I  can  not  see  ; 
In  vain  I  seek,  with  longing  gaze, 

To  scan  eternity! 


Oh!  mystery  of  the  unseen  world, 

Thy  cloudy  curtains  fall, 
Like  banners  by  the  breeze  unfurled, 
To  shut  my  gaze  from  all — 


From  all  which  lies  before,  beyond — 

A  vast,  unsounded  sea, 
Whose  depths  of  mystery  profound, 

Still  tempt  and  trouble  me. 

Oh!  wondrous  future!  when  unrolled, 

Shall  thy  deep  waters  flow 
O'er  beds  of  pearl  and  sands  of  gold  ? 

Or  rocky  reefs  of  woe  ? 

What  ships,  which  speed  time's  billows  o'er, 

With  favoring  wave  and  wind, 
Stranded  upon  a  wreck-strewn  shore, 

Some  coming  morn  shall  find  ? 


68  AUTUMN   LEAVES. 

What  ships  by  wildest  storms  distressed, 
Beyond  earth's  changing  tide, 

Shall,  'mid  the  islands  of  the  blest, 
In  peaceful  harbor  ride  ? 

Alas!  the  night  has  darker  grown, 

One  star  alone  gives  light, 
We  journey  toward  the  great  Unknown 

By  faith  and  not  by  sight. 

Yet,  while  life's  evening  shadows  fall, 

May  we  not  trust  His  love, 
Who  will,  through  storms  and  darkness  all, 

Our  faithful  Pilot  prove  ? 


THE  LIGHT-HOUSE. 

ALONG,  low  range  of  dangerous  rocks, 
Oft  hidden  by  the  tide, 
Well  nigh  two  centuries  ago, 

Were  made  the  sailor's  guide  ; 
A  massive  light-house  rose  thereon, 
Whose  welcome  beams  shone  far, 
When  midnight  darkness  veiled  from  sight 
The  friendly  moon  and  star. 

Who  built  at  first,  his  structure  reared 

With  patient  skill  and  care, 
And  decorative  art  invoked, 

To  make  it  grand  and  fair. 


BY   THE   SEA.  69 

But  when  the  storm-king,  in  his  wrath, 

To  fierce  destruction  moved, 
The  balconies  which  lent  such  grace, 

Its  utter  ruin  proved. 

Another  built  with  wiser  thought, 

Cast  ornament  aside, 
Nor  trick  of  foolish  fancy  brought, 

To  catch  the  wind  and  tide — 
A  granite  tower,  whose  strength  defied 

Alike  the  sea  and  wind, 
But  lined  with  wood,  and  doomed  therefrom 

A  fiery  death  to  find. 

Yet  from  its  ashes,  Phoenix-like, 

The  light-house  rose  once  more 
In  soolemn  grandeur,  statelier  far, 

More  perfect  than  before. 
By  failure  taught,  the  architect 

This  lesson  learned  with  care, 
That  only  excellence  the  test 

Of  centuries  will  bear. 


7O  AUTUMN    LEA  \  IS. 


THE   FISHERMAN. 

THE  fisherman  rocks  in  his  shell  of  a  boat, 
The  fisherman  sturdy  and  brave, 
And  day  after  day,  on  the  ocean  afloat, 
He  rides  on  the  foam-crested  wave. 

And  sometimes  he  carries  a  tiny  white  sail, 

And  sometimes  he  bends  to  the  oar, 
And  often  is  borne  on  the  breath  of  the  gale 

His  song  floating  back  to  the  shore. 

The  fisherman's  wife  in  the  cottage  sits  down, 
With  her  little  brown  babe  on  her  knee, 

And  sometimes  she  glances  with  smile  or  with -frown 
On  the  children  who  sport  by  the  sea; 

But  often  she  turns  with  a  far-reaching  gaze, 
To  the  distant  dim  speck  on  the  wave, 

The  treacherous  wave  which  so  often  betrays 
And  proves  but  the  fisherman's  grave. 

The  children  climb  up  on  the  rocks  in  the  sand, 

And  wait  for  the  incoming  tide, 
All  ready  and  eager,  with  basket  in  hand, 

The  fisherman  spoils  to  divide. 

And  never  a  charm  doth  the  fisherman  lack 

To  capture  the  shy,  shining  fish, 
He  trolls  and  he  angles  for  blue  and  for  black, 

And  lands  them  alike  in  his  dish. 


BY   THE    SEA.  71 

To  the  fishers  of  old,  came  the  Savior  of  men, 

As  they  mended  their  nets  by  the  sea, 
He  called  to  them  tenderly,  once  and  again, 

"  Leave  them  all,  and  come,  follow  thou  me." 

The  fishermen  still  hear  his  voice  by  the  sea, 

For  he  speaks  to  them  ever  as  then, 
"Come  follow  ye  me  my  diciples  to  be 

And  ye  shall  be  fishers  of  men." 


LIIVING  WATERS. 

A  TALE  is  told  of  a  ship  which  lay 
Becalmed  at  sea  on  a  sultry  day, 
With  idle  sails,  and  a  thirsting  crew, 
Benumbed  and  faint,  with  a  terror  new. 

For  wind  and  wave  had  conspired  to  show, 
Their  journey  long  and  their  progress  slow, 
But  stormy  sea  or  the  tempest's  breath 
Was  naught,  compared  to  this  dreadful  death. 

Their  way  was  lost  on  the  pathless  sea, 
And  still  far  off  must  the  harbor  be, 
But  lo!  a  sail  in  the  distance  shone, 
A  steamship  sped  o'er  the  path  unknown. 


72  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

It  nearer  drew,  as  they  hoping  gazed; 

The  captain  stood  with  his  trumpet  raised, 
"  Ho!  ship  ahoy!  "  was  his  eager  cry, 
"  Give  us  some  water,  or  else  we  die." 

No  answer  came  to  his  call  at  first, 
"  Ho!  ship  ahoy!  must  we  die  of  thirst  ? 
We  perish  here  in  this  briny  sea, 
Draw  near  and  give  of  your  store  to  me." 

Then  backward  came  the  reply  so  clear, 
"  The  mouth  of  the  Amazon  is  here, 
So  drop  your  buckets,  both  great  and  small, 
And  fill,  for  water  is  free  to  all." 

How  oft,  adrift  on  life's  changing  sea, 
And  parched  with  thirst,  like  that  crew,  are  we, 
For  storms  have  driven  us  from  our  way, 
Or  calms  delayed,  and  afar  we  stray. 

The  broken  cisterns,  so  poor  and  small, 
Wherefrom  we  drank,  have  been  emptied  all, 
Till  each  sad  heart  lifts  at  last  the  cry, 
"  Lord,  save  in  pity,  or  else  I  die." 

How  welcome,  then,  is  the  voice  we  hear, 
"  The  fount  of  joy  is  forever  near, 
Salvation  spreads  like  a  mighty  sea, 
And  living  streams  are  awaiting  thee." 


BY  THE   SEA.  73 


-THE  SEA  -IS   HIS." 

I  WANDER  on  the  pebbly  strand, 
Beneath  my  feet  is  yielding  sand, 
Before  me  stretches,  vast  and  grand, 

The  ocean  with  incoming  tide, 
Whose  foam-capped  billows  o'er  and  o'er, 
Dash  on  the  rocks  with  deaf'ning  roar, 
And  break  and  die  along  the  shore, 
My  faltering  steps  beside. 

And  thus,  for  age  on  age  untold, 
O'er  granite  rocks  or  sands  of  gold, 
The  ocean's  flowing  tides  have  rolled, 

Nor  ever  ceased  to  rise  and  fall. 
Held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
Who  holds  the  worlds,  at  whose  command, 
From  chaos  sprang  both  sea  and  land, 

Obedient  to  His  call. 

A  thousand  years  are  in  his  sight 
But  as  the  watches  of  a  night, — 
A  foam-flash  on  the  waters  bright, — 

Or  sunset's  golden  afterglow. 
Ten  thousand  years,  still  undismayed, 
The  sea  His  mandate  has  obeyed, 
"  And  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed, 

No  further  shall  thou  go." 


74  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Empires  have  held  their  mighty  sway, 
Nations  have  grown  and  passed  away, 
Man  is  the  creature  of  a  day, 

With  all  his  power  and  pride, 
How  brief  the  measure  of  his  years, 
How  trivial  his  hopes  and  fears, 
How  small  his  puny  strength  appears, 

The  ocean  depths  beside. 

In  silence  sleep  the  great  of  old, 
The  giants  of  the  past,  so  bold, 
Their  race  is  run,  their  tale  is  told, 

They  lie  with  folded  hands, 
And  sealed  lips  and  quiet  breast, 
And  brown  earth-mold  above  them  pressed, 
For  centuries  to  take  their  rest, 

A  vast  uncounted  band. 

And  all  who  dwell  on  earth  to-day, 
Or  young  or  old,  will  pass  away, 
Yet  shall  the  ocean  never  stay 

From  breaking  on  the  shore, 
Till  the  archangel's  form  shall  stand, 
One  foot  on  sea  and  one  on  land, 
And  swear  by  God's  almighty  hand, 

That  time  shall  be  no  more. 


BY    THE    SEA. 


75 


THE  LIFE-LINE. 

ALONG  the  coast  of  India 
A  fearful  typhoon  raged, 
And  on  the  life  of  man  and  beast 

A  deadly  warfare  waged. 
Swift,  terrible,  destructive, 

With  seeming  murderous  glee 
It  devastated  villages 

And  plunged  into  the  sea. 

There,  on  the  helpless  vessels 

Its  fiercest  fury  fell, 
Dismanteled  ships,  the  sea  engulfed, 

None  left  their  fate  to  tell. 
The  waves  in  answering  madness  rose 

To  meet  the  angry  sky, 
And  thundered  on  the  rocky  coast 

Their  billows  mountain  high. 

The  English  frigate  Enterprise, 

With  more  than  four-score  souls, 
Was  striving  bravely  with  the  gale, 

Amid  the  rocks  and  shoals, 
To  reach  the  shores  of  Andaman, 

Whose  prison  turrets  gleamed 
From  out  the  blinding  rack  of  storm, 

When  baleful  lightning  streamed. 


76  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

But  vainly  with  the  tempest,  strove 

The  staunchest  ship,  that  day. 
Dashed  on  the  cruel,  jagged  rocks 

With  force  no  power  could  stay. 
The  helpless  sailors,  all  too  soon, 

Were  struggling  with  the  waves, 
And  drowning,  dying,  one  by  one, 

They  sank  to  watery  graves. 

On  shore,  some  women  convicts 

Were  toiling  up  the  beach, 
Drenched  with  the  rain-fall,  as  they  strove 

Their  prison  home  to  reach. 
They  learned  the  dreadful  peril, 

Above  the  tempest's  breath 
They  heard  the  shriek  of  agony 

From  those  who  strove  with  death. 

They  paused  and  turned,  the  awful  sight 

A  common  purpose  gave, 
And  pity  woke  in  every  breast 

A  strong  desire  to  save. 
They  struggled  back  from  rock  to  rock, 

The  nearest  point  to  gain, 
Made  breathless  by  the  whirling  storm 

And  black  and  blinding  rain. 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  a  line  was  formed, 
Which  stretched  from  solid  land, 

To  where  the  boiling  billows'  foam 
Tossed  up  the  shifting  sand. 


BY   THE   SEA.  77 

The  foremost,  plunging  boldly  in, 

With  hand-clasp  firm  and  warm, 
Drew  from  the  seething  cauldron  forth, 

A  helpless,  human  form. 

Again  and  yet  again  she  drew 

Man  after  man  to  land, 
Impelled  to  strength  and  courage  new 

By  every  clasping  hand. 
And  when  exhausted  quite,  at  last 

She  fell,  as  mortals  will, 
The  next  in  line  stepped  bravely  forth, 

Her  sacred  place  to  fill. 

Of  all  that  good  ship's  company, 

Not  one  had  reached  the  land, 
But  for  the  saving  power  within 

A  woman's  helping  hand. 
Not  one  of  all  the  women  there, 

But  had  been  overthrown 
And  buried  by  the  furious  waves, 

If  she  had  stood  alone. 


Thus  sisters,  let  us  form  the  line, 

Each  clasp  another's  hand, 
And  work  to  rescue  sinking  souls — 

An  earnest,  Christian  band. 
More  dreadful  than  the  angry  sea 

Fanned  by  the  typhoon's  breath 
Are  the  black  waves  of  sin  and  crime, 

Which  drag  men  down  to  death. 


78  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

So  happy  in  our  homes  of  ease, 

We  scarcely  hear  the  cry 
Of  struggling  souls  temptation-tossed, 

Who  fall  and  sink  and  die. 
The  clasping  of  a  friendly  hand, 

The  help  Christ  came  to  give, 
Would  draw  them  to  the  sheltered  shore, 

Where  they  might  safely  live. 

Then  in  Christ's  name  united  stand! 

Stand  in  His  strength  divine! 
His  tender,  pitying  love  shall  fill 

Each  heart  along  the  line. 
His  Spirit  will  endue  with  power, 

To  rescue  and  to  save 
The  souls,  now  lost  and  perishing, 

For  whom  Himself  He  gave. 

As  one  by  one  the  leaders  fall, 

Supported  by  His  grace, 
The  next  in  line  shall  forward  move, 

And  fill  each  vacant  place. 
Each  consecrated  life  will  win 

In  Heaven  its  true  renown, 
Where  every  rescued  soul  shall  shine, 

A  jewel  in  love's  crown. 


BY   THE   SEA.  79 


THE   SEA-SHELL. 

HARK  to  the  sea-shells'  song! 
A  song  so  low  and  sweel, 
It  seems  to  but  repeat 
The  whispered  sigh 
Of  waves  which  die, 
On  beds  of  glistening  sand, 
Along  the  ocean  strand. 

Sometimes  amid  the  notes, 
I  catch  the  tempest's  breath, 
Which  tells  of  wreck  and  death, 

The  wailing  cry 

Of  those  who  die, 
And  mid  the  angry  waves, 
Go  down  to  unmarked  graves. 

Sometimes  it  seems  to  sing 
Of  all  things  strong  and  free, 
Which  dwell  within  the  sea, 

Where  billows  rise 

To  touch  the  skies, 
And  toss  their  snowy  foam 
Above  the  sea-shells'  home. 

Why  do  you  sing,  oh,  shell! 
Far  from  your  native  land, 
Far  from  the  wave-washed  strand, 


80  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Where  once  you  slept, 
And  faithful  kept, 
Through  changing  wind  and  tide 
The  treasures  you  would  hide  ? 

Do  we  not  sometimes  hear, 
In  our  own  souls  a  song, 
Whose  notes  we  would  prolong, 
A  whispered  chime, 
Of  that  fair  clime, 
That  land  which  hath  no  name, 
The  land  from  whence  we  came! 


THE  MIRAGE. 

A  DIM  mist  hung  above  the  lake, 
The  sky  was  dull  and  gray, 
The  passing  breeze  seemed  scarce  awake, 
To  bear  the  barks  away. 

So  noiselessly  they  stole  afar, 

Like  sheeted  ghosts  so  pale, 
The  fog-wreaths  twining  every  spar 

With  shreds  of  misty  veil. 

The  sun  rose  slowly  from  his  bed 

Of  amber  tinted  folds, 
And  silently  his  javelins  sped 

Across  the  great  lakes  cold. 


BY   THE   SEA.  8 1 

A  sudden  glory  bathed  the  earth, 

A  glory  filled  the  sky, 
As  if  a  new  world  sprang  from  birth 

'Neath  the  All-seeing  eye. 

And  swiftly  on  the  low-hung  clouds, 

A  picture  strangely  fair, 
The  sea  and  ships  with  masts  and  shrouds 

Were  painted  en  the  air. 

Then  broader  grew  the  wondrous  scene, 

The  canvas  still  unrolled, 
Till  hill  and  valley,  clothed  in  green, 

And  touched  with  morning's  gold, 

Swung  lightly  from  the  shining  strand 

On  cloud-banks  dim  and  high, 
While  castle  towers  with  turrets  grand 

Rose  dark  against  the  sky. 

An  hour  passed  by,  the  breeze  swept  free, 

The  sun  shone  in  its  strength, 
And  slowly  faded  ship  and  sea, 

And  hill  and  tower,  at  length. 

The  blue  sky  arching  over  all, 

The  wave-washed,  rocky  shore, 
The  distant  hills  and  forests  tall, 

The  lake,  sail-dotted  o'er, 

These  still  remained.     The  matchless  view 

Spread  grandly  out  on  high, 
And,  touched  with  glory  strange  and  new, 

Had  vanished  from  the  sky. 


82  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

As  fleeting  as  the  joys  of  earth, 
As  swift  to  pass  away 

As  worldly  pleasure  is,  whose  birth 
Is  followed  by  decay. 

A  faint,  foreshadowing  of  bliss 
And  glory  of  the  skies, 

Where  heavenly  joy  eternal  is, 
And  beauty  never  dies. 


TRUST. 

TWO  sisters  by  the  casement  white 
Looked  on  the  sea  one  summer's  night, 
Its  billows  bathed  in  silver  light. 

A  harvest  moon  and  cloudless  sky, 
And  great  waves  rising  mountain  high, 
To  toss  their  kisses  to  the  sky. 

They  saw  the  shining  path  which  lay 
Like  molten  silver  stretched  away 
Across  the  waters  of  the  bay. 

They  saw  the  narrow  line  of  sand 
Between  the  ocean  and  the  land, 
The  gray  dunes  farther  up  the  strand. 

The  rocks  which  rear  their  massive  forms, 
Sole  guardians  of  the  coast  in  storms, 
Through  winter  chills,  or  summer  warms. 


BY   THE   SEA.  83 

They  saw  the  vessels  come  and  go 
Across  the  moonbeam's  brightest  glow, 
As  white-winged  birds  flit  to  and  fro. 

Then  one  said  softly,  "  Oh,  how  fair! 
On  sea  or  land,  in  earth  or  air, 
God's  beauty  shineth  everywhere. 

"  But  most  of  all  beside  the  sea, 
Whose  ceaseless  anthem  seems  to  me 
Fit  symbol  of  eternity." 

The  other  shivered  as  with  pain, 

And  on  her  cheeks  there  came  the  stain 

Of  falling'tears,  like  summer  rain. 

"  The  sea  so  cruel  is,"  she  said, 
"  Its  terrors,  like  a  mantle  spread, 
Enwrap  my  heart  with  fear  and  dread. 

"And  ever  in  its  undertone 

There  comes  to  me  the  bitter  moan 

Of  drowning  sailors  overthrown. 

"The  foam-capped  waves  which  beat  the  strand, 
Gleam  ghostly,  like  the  beckoning  hand 
Of  those  who  perish  far  from  land. 

"  I  hear  rich  freighted  vessels  groan 
Beneath  their^burdens,  and  alone 
Go  down,  unnoticed  and  unknown. 


84  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

"And  huge  sea  monsters  follow  fast 
The  shipwreck  and  the  stormy  blast, 
To  aid  the  tyrant  in  his  task. 

44  Death  rides  triumphant  on  the  wave; 
The  sea  becomes  a  mighty  grave, 
With  none  to  pity,  none  to  save." 

*'  Nay,"  said  the  first,  "but  sweetly  still, 
"The  sea  His  mandate  must  fulfill, 
Who  made  it  by  His  word  and  will. 

"Death  comes  to  all,  on  sea  or  land, 
Though  why  we  may  not  understand, 
We  trust  a  Father's  guiding  hand. 

44  Why  sin  and  sorrow  came  to  dwell 
In  human  hearts,  we  can  not  tell, 
But  God  His  love  hath  proven  well. 

"On  land  or  sea  alike,  we  share 
His  tender  and  protecting  care, 
His  mercy  shineth  everywhere." 


BY   THE    SEA.  85 


THREE  FISHERMEN. 

THREE  fishermen  down  by  the  sea 
Sat  mending  their  nets  one  day, 
They  were  browned  by  the  wind  and  the  sun, 
And  all  were  wrinkled  and  grey. 

The  first  said, — "  I  was  a  boy 

When  my  father's  ship  went  down — 

I  remember  well  that  fearful  night; 
It  was  wrecked  in  sight  of  town. 


"  My  mother  watched  it  and  wept, 
As  she  clasped  her  children  three, 

Then  she  reared  her  boys  in  an  inland  town, 
But  all  of  them  follow  the  sea." 


The  second  sighed  as  he  said, — 

"  It  is  not  so  long  ago 
Since  the  boat  went  down  off  Newfoundland, 

Which  carried  my  brave  boy  Joe. 

"  Yes,  I  was  a  skipper  then, 

And  the  second  mate  was  he, 
I  lost  my  heart  with  my  ship  and  boy, 

But  I  can  not  leave  the  sea." 


86  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  third  one  shook  his  head 

As  he  said,  half  bitterly, — 
"The  sea  has  buried  my  wife  and  child, 

And  it's  good  enough  for  me. 

"  For  nigh  on  sixty-years 

It  has  been  a  home  to  me, 
And  I  want  my  final  resting-place 

In  the  bottom  of  the  sea." 

Then  they  watched  the  sea  and  sky 
And  the  white  gulls  sailing  low, 

And  said, — "  We  must  mend  our  nets  to-day, 
To-morrow  a-fishing  we  go." 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 


GOD. 

GOD  reigneth  in  the  heavens, 
His  glorious  dwelling  place, 
God  filleth  with  his  presence, 

The  immensity  of  space. 
No  living,  sentient  being 

On  earth  or  farthest  star 
From  life's  great  Sun  and  Center 
Can  hold  himself  afar. 

And  vainly  man  desireth 

By  shade  of  starless  night, 
Or  folds  of  rayless  darkness, 

To  shield  him  from  God's  sight. 
In  vain  on  wings  of  morning 

To  distant  worlds  would  fly, 
Nor  Heaven  nor  hell  can  hide  him 

From  God's  all-seeing  eye. 

God,  by  His  Holy  Spirit, 

To  every  soul  draws  near, 
By  every  heart  acknowledged 

In  throbs  of  love  or  fear. 
The  willing  and  obedient 

Behold  His  face  with  joy, 
The  wicked  and  rebellious, 

Through  sins,  which  peace  destroy. 


9O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

We  can  not  help  but  touch  Him, 

Hemmed  in  on  every  side, 
His  love  and  law  surround  us, 

Creator,  King  and  Guide. 
How  shall  we  meet  and  greet  Him  ? 

He  comes  at  our  desire 
The  sun  of  life  and  glory 

Or  "a  consuming  fire." 


CHRIST'S  BLESSING. 

LONG  years  ago,  amid  the  hills 
Of  Judea,  and  beside  her  rills, 
Walked  the  great  Teacher,  wise  and  strong, 
Revealing  truth,  reproving  wrong. 

Around  Him  came  with  willing  feet, 
The  eager  crowd,  His  voice  to  greet, 
The  rich  and  poor,  the  great  and  small, 
His  words  of  wisdom  were  for  all. 

And  so,  one  day,  amid  the  throng, 
Moved  by  an  impulse  pure  and  strong, 
Came  many  mothers,  in  whose  arms 
Were  laughing  babies,  full  of  charms. 

And  others  led  by  tiny  hand, 

The  little  feet  which  scarce  could  stand, 

And  to  the  Savior  pressing  near, 

His  words  of  blessing  staid  to  hear. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  91 

But  those  who  sat  as  learners  there, 
Reproved  them  with  a  zealous  care, 
The  Master  must  not  be  annoyed, 
His  sermon  in  effect  destroyed. 

And  thrust  them  rudely  back,  who  came 
Such  benison  of  love  to  claim, 
They  could  not  understand  that  He 
Could  stoop  to  such  humility. 

"  Forbid  them  not,"  the  Savior  cried, 
(With  somewhat  of  reproof  implied), 
"Suffer  the  children  thus  to  come, 
Of  such  my  kingdom  is  and  home. 

And  ye,  if  ye  are  not  as  they, 
So  humble,  teachable  alway, 
Ye  can  not  dwell  within  my  heart, 
Nor  of  My  kingdom  share  a  part." 

Then  tenderly  with  fond  caress, 
He  stooped  each  little  one  to  bless, 
And  left,  on  brows  uplifted  there, 
The  touch  of  holy  hands,  in  prayer. 

Like  ocean  waves,  which  ebb  and  flow, 
Earth's  generations  come  and  go, 
And  still  like  music's  sweetest  notes, 
Christ's  blessing  down  the  centuries  floats. 

Dear  children  do  you  know  how  rare 
The  gift  your  Savior  bids  you  share, 


92  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

How  priceless  is  the  love  which  waits, 
To  open  for  you  Heaven's  gates  ? 

And  mothers  is  there  aught  for  you, 

In  the  sweet  lesson  ever  new, 

Of  those  who  brought  their  darlings  there, 

And  asked  a  blessing  with  a  prayer? 

Still  waits  our  gracious  Lord,  to  own 
His  little  ones  wherever  known, 
And  offers  from  the  world's  alarms, 
The  shelter  of  His  loving  arms. 

And  all  may  share  His  heavenly  calm, 
His  words  of  sweetness  dropping  balm, 
His  peace,  deep-flowing,  day  by  day, 
The  world  nor  gives  nor  takes  away. 

Still,  beggars  at  His  palace  gate, 
From  early  morn  till  evening  late, 
We  come  and  meet  where'er  we  stand, 
The  welcome  of  His  outstretched  hand. 

"  Come  in  and  sup  with  Me,"  He  saith, 
"  Believe,  oh!   ye,  of  little  faith, 
Accept  My  freely  offered  love, 
My  grace  shall  all-sufficient  prove." 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  93 


DIVINE  COMPASSION. 

r^ISCOURAGED,  sick  at  heart  and  sad, 
Ly     With  faint  and  failing  breath, 
The  fiery  prophet  of  the  Lord 
Who  fled  from  the  avenger's  sword, 
Laid  down  and  prayed  for  death. 


Short  time  before,  on  Carmels  height, 

With  faith  which  knew  no  fear, 
He  watched  the  heaven-descending  fire, 
Which  answering  came  at  his  desire, 
To  prove  Jehovah  near. 


And  filled  with  burning  zeal  for  God, 

And  courage  stern  but  grand, 
The  false,  blind  leaders  of  the  blind, 
No  pity  in  his  heart  could  find 
Who  fell  beneath  his  hand. 


But  weak  and  wailing  as  a  child, 

In  darkness  and  despair, 
Beneath  the  broom-tree's  welcome  shade 
Elijah's  weary  head  was  laid, 

And  death,  his  only  prayer. 


94  AUTUM  N    LEAVES. 

Then  mid  the  silence  and  the  calm 

Came  slumber  deep  and  sweet, 
And  lo!  a  voice  said  tenderly, 
"The  journey  is  too  great  for  thee, 
Arise,  arise  and  eat." 

No  message  of  reproach  to  bear, 

No  stern  reproof  to  give  — 
The  gentle  angel  only  brought 
The  sustenance  the  prophet  sought, 
That  he  might  eat  and  live. 

A  heaven-sent  messenger  of  love, 

With  sympathy  to  greet, — 
A  father's  tender  care  to  prove, 
By  strength  and  blessing  from  above, 
His  human  needs  to  meet. 

Oh!  tender  pity  of  our  God, 

The  God  in  whom  we  trust, 
He  knoweth  every  child  by  name, 
Considereth  our  feeble  frame, 
Remembering  it  is  dust. 

He  sends  to  comfort  weary  ones, 
And  bid  their  sorrows  cease  — 
With  shelter  from  the  burning  sun 
And  sweet  repose  when  toil  is  done, — 
The  angel  of  his  peace. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  95 


THE  REVEALER. 

IN  the  dim  ages  of  the  past, 
Earth's  morning  twilight  hour, 
Jehovah,  God,  revealed  himself 

Through  miracles  of  power: 
The  thundering  of  Sinai's  mount 
Thrilled  every  heart  with  fear, 
The  cloudy  pillar  and  the  flame 
Proclaimed  his  presence  near. 

His  own  strong  hand  and  mighty  arm 

His  chosen  people  led 
Triumphant  over  vanquished  foes 

And  hosts  of  gory  dead; 
His  faithless,  wayward  followers, 

Along  their  devious  path, 
His  jutice  and  his  greatness  learned, 

Through  scourgings  of  his  wrath. 

When  in  the  fullness  of  the  time, 

The  great  Revealer  came 
No  fiery  lightnings  girt  him  round 

Nor  panoply  of  flame, 
The  tender,  loving  heart  of  God, 

Shone  through  his  holy  face, 
With  wondrous  words  his  lips  proclaimed 

The  gospel  of  free  grace. 


96  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  miracles  his  hands  preformed 

Appealed  to  human  need, 
The  ruler  of  the  wind  and  waves 

Could  still  the  hungry  feed; 
Could  heal  the  sick,  restore  the  blind, 

The  sinning  could  forgive, 
Could  cast  out  demons,  raise  the  dead, 

And  teach  men  how  to  live. 

44  Teach  us  to  pray,"  disciples  said, 

Who  gathered  'round  his  knee, 
"  We  can  not  reach  the  ear  of  God, 

We  come  to  learn  of  Thee." 
"  Not  with  vain  words,"  the  Christ  replied, 

"  Which  heathen  love  to  use, 
Nor  tiresome  round  of  lengthy  prayers, 

The  gift  of  heaven  abuse; 

"  Nor  clad  in  empty,  outward  forms, 

Shalt  thou  approach  His  throne, 
Nor  seeming  unto  men  to  fast, 

Shalt  make  thy  wishes  known; 
4  Our  Father  '  when  thou  prayest  say, 

And  He  will  hear  thee  call, 
One  is  your  Father,  even  God, 

And  ye  are  brothers  all." 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS.  97 


MORE  LABORERS. 

work  to-day"  the  Master  saith, 
"  My  vineyard  waits  for  thee, 
Broad  is  the  field,  the  harvest  white. 

From  river  unto  sea! 
The  reapers  still  too  few  remain, 

They  fall  beside  the  way, 
Worn  with  the  labor,  and  the  heat 
And  burden  of  the  day." 

The  weary  cry  of  sin-sick  souls, 

Throughout  our  broad,  free  land, 
From  North  to  South,  with  single  voice 

Re-echoes  this  command: 
The  crowded  cities  of  the  East, 

Sin-darkened  each  and  all, 
The  wide,  green  prairies  of  the  West, 

Repeat  the  Master's  call. 

The  heathan  nations  from  afar, 

Stretch  out  their  empty  hands, 
Uncounted  millions  worshiping 

Strange  gods,  in  many  lands; 
The  door  is  open,  wind  and  tide 

Each  sail  shall  kindly  greet, 
The  ocean  islands  wait  to  hear 

The  music  of  your  feet. 


98  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

They  plead  by  all  their  human  wants, 

By  sins  still  unforgiven, 
The  right  of  every  deathless  soul 

To  learn  of  God  and  heaven; 
"Come,  help  us,  for  our  need  is  great, 

Come  while  it  is  to-day, 
Our  time  is  short,  this  fleeting  life 

Will  soon  have  passed  away." 

Are  there  no  idle  hands  which  wait, 

For  service  for  their  Lord? 
No  willing  and  obedient  hearts 

Who  gladly  hear  his  word? 
No  steadfast  souls  from  doubts  removed 

Whose  feet  perchance  have  trod 
The  thorny  paths,  by  peril  marked, 

Which  reach  the  heights  of  God! 

Have  not  these,  with  uplifted  gaze, 

Beheld  the  Saviors  face, 
That  they  should  willing  servants  be, 

To  tell  his  matchless  grace? 
With  sandaled  feet,  and  shrinking  not 

From  sacrifice  and  loss, 
Still  up  the  steeps  of  Calvary, 

To  bear  the  heavy  cross. 

Are  there  no  hearts  of  joy  bereft, 
Bowed  down  by  sorrow's  load, 

Who  in  the  balm  of  work,  may  find 
Strength  for  the  lonely  road? 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  99 

Content  if  he,  with  thorn-crowned  brow, 

Shall  walk  beside  the  way, 
And  on  the  spirits  bleeding  wounds, 

His  hand  of  healing  lay. 

"Go,  work,  To-day"  the  Master  saith, 

The  hour  of  toil  is  brief, 
In  swift  succession  follow  blade 

And  grain  and  garnered  sheaf: 
And  he  who  for  his  Lord  has  wrought, 

With  talents  ten  or  one, 
Will  in  the  hour  of  reckoning  hear 

The  gracious  words,  "  Well  done." 


THE  MESSENGER. 

WAY-WORN  and  weary,  with  the  grime 
And  dust  of  travel-soil, 
Heaped  thickly  by  the  hand  of  time 

And  journey's  lengthened  toil; 
Scorched  with  the  heat  of  torrid  lands, 

And  parched  with  thirsting  pain, 
Wound  slowly  through  the  desert  sands, 
The  caravan's  long  train. 

Day  after  day,  the  welcome  word, 

The  Arabs  failed  to  bring, 
Day  after  day,  no  voice  they  heard, 

To  tell  of  cooling  spring — 


IOO  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

They  saw  the  last  sent  forth,  to  spy 
The  fountain's  crystal  brim, 

Loom  dark  against  the  sunset  sky, 
Far  on  the  desert's  rim. 

But  pausing  suddenly,  he  stood 

A  moment,  as  spell-bound, 
In  rapt  and  listening  attitude, 

Held  by  some  distant  sound, 
Then  whirled  and  toward  the  jaded  throng 

Rode  through  the  twilight  pale, 
With  the  long  gallop,  swift  and  strong, 

Which  told  the  welcome  tale. 

While  ever  and  anon  his  voice, 

Like  herald  sent  before 
To  bid  their  fainting  hearts  rejoice, 

The  shout  of  "water"  bore — 
From  far,  his  well-trained  ear,  had  caught 

The  talismanic  word 
By  others  sent,  which  thither  brought, 

His  soul  with  pleasure  stirred. 

Thus  toiling  through  the  sands  of  time 

With  halting  steps  and  slow, 
As  pilgrims  in  an  alien  clime, 

Earth's  thirsting  millions  go. 
Truth's  precious  fountain  who  shall  win  ? 

The  cooling  streams  are,  where  ? 
Whose  waters  quench  the  fires  of  sin, 

And  slake  the  thirst  of  care. 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS  IOI 

Oh!  watchful  heralds,  sent  before, 

The  healing  springs  to  spy, 
The  hour  grows  late,  and  more  and  more 

Your  brothers  faint  and  die. 
Ride  swiftly,  messengers  of  peace, 

Ring  out  your  words  of  cheer! 
Bear  to  each  burdened  heart  release, 

"'  Salvation's  fount  is  near." 


FAITH,  HOPE  AND  CHARITY. 

FAITH  is  a  firm,  belief  in  all 
Which  will  be,  or  has  been, 
The  inward  evidence  of  that 
Which  eye  has  never  seen. 
By  faith  we  tread  those  holy  heights, 

Where  angels  trembling  stand. 

Faith  is  the  ladder  by  whose  rounds 

We  climb  to  God's  right  hand. 

Hope  is  the  anchor  sure,  which  holds 

When  storms  assail  life's  bark, — 
The  guiding  star  which  brightly  gleams, 

When  tempests  gather  dark. 
It  lights  the  straight  and  narrow  way, 

Through  earth's  bewildering  maze, 
The  valley  and  the  shadow  dim, 

Are  glorious  with  its  rays. 


IO2  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

But  better  far  than  faith  or  hope, 

More  Christ-like  and  more  pure, 
The  heaven-born,  holy  charity, 

Which  all  things  doth  endure. 
The  humble  love  which  envieth  not, 

In  patience  suffering  long, 
Thinking  no  evil,  hoping  still, 

And  meekly  bearing  wrong. 

The  brotherhood  of  man  it  binds 

In  tenderest  sympathy, 
To  every  erring  penitent, 

It  brings  a  pardon  free. 
Redeemer,  Mediator,  Lord, 

With  access  to  the  throne, 
And  faith  and  hope  to  man  are  given, 

By  God's  great  love  alone. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  1 03 

THE  REFUGE. 

As  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land." 

WHAT  though  the  noonday  sun 
Beats  fiercely  o'er  my  head, 
With'ring  each  perfumed  flower 

Along  the  path  I  tread; 
What  though  the  breeze  which  fans, 

Be  like  the  Simoon's  breath, 
That  sweeps  the  desert  sands, 

Swift  harbinger  of  death; 
Kept  by  God's  changeless  love, 

Led  by  His  tender  hand, 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  Rock 

Secure  my  feet  shall  stand. 

What  though  the  changing  sky 

With  clouds  be  overcast, 
And  joy's  frail  blossoms  fly 

Before  the  stormy  blast  ; 
And  hopes  which  budded  fair, 

In  life's  glad  morning  hour, 
Lie  blossomless  and  bare 

Beneath  the  tempest's  power; 
However  wild  the  shock, 

Whatever  ills  betide, 
Within  the  covert  of  the  Rock, 

In  safety  I  will  hide. 


IO4  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

What  though  above  the  hill 

The  western  sun  shines  low, 
And  night-winds,  damp  and  chill, 

From  frozen  regions  blow: 
While  singing  birds  have  flown 

And  flower  and  leaf  are  dead — 
No  pillow,  save  a  stone, 

Remaineth  for  the  head, 
When  Death,  his  fingers  cold, 

Upon  my  lids  hath  pressed, 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  Rock 

In  sweetest  dreams  I'll  rest. 


PEACE. 

"MY  PEACE  I  GIVE    UNTO  YOU." 

•HTMS  said,  amid  the  desert  sands, 
1       A  little  way-side  flower 
Folds  in  its  cup,  a  drop  of  dew, 

Through  all  the  noon-tide  hour. 

A  tiny  drop,  by  night  distilled, 
Yet  keeping  fresh  and  sweet 

The  little  plant,  through  all  the  glow 
Of  noon's  most  fervid  heat. 

The  sun  may  burn,  the  sands  may  parch 
Each  green  and  living  thing, 

But  still  the  little  flower  blooms  on, 
Fed  by  its  hidden  spring. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  IO5 

At  eve  its  leaves  are  opened  wide, 

To  catch  the  falling  shower, 
At  dawn  it  folds  its  petals  close, 

To  guard  the  heaven  sent  dower. 

And  thus,  along  life's  barren  wastes 

By  weary  footsteps   trod, 
Is  hidden  in  the  Christian's  heart 

The  holy  peace  of  God. 

The  sands  beneath  his  feet  may  burn, 

The  mid-day  sun  ride  high, 
And  love's  most  cherished  hopes  and  plans 

About  him  withered  lie. 

The  fever  of  noon's  hurrying  stress, 

Through  all  his  veins  may  flow, 
The  cup  he  quaffs,  bear  to  his  lips 

The  bitter  taste  of  woe; 

But  peace,  deep  hidden  in  his  soul, 

From  God's  unfailing  spring, 
The  freshness  of  perennial  spring, 

About  his  years  shall  fling. 

Oh!  blessed  gift  of  love  divine, 

Within  our  heart  of  hearts, 
We  pray  thee  tarry  evermore, 

Until  life's  day  departs. 


1O6  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


"NEVER  YET  HEARD." 

"TJAVE  you  heard  of  the  doctrine  of  Jesus, 
A  1     Of  Jesus  who  made  the  sick  whole?" 

Asked  a  Christen  physician  and  teacher, 
Who  sought  to  save  body  and  soul: 

"Have  you  heard  of  the  doctrine  of  Jesus, 

Of  One  who  is  mighty  to  save  ? 
Of  the  God  who  alone  can  redeem  us 

From  sin,  and  from  death  and  the  grave  ? " 

Then  mournful  and  low  was  the  answer, 
Whose  whisper  the  pallid  lips  stirred, 

But  thrilling  the  heart  of  the  teacher 
With  pain —  "  I  have  never  yet  heard.  " 

And  sofily  stole  one  and  another, 

That  wonderful  story  to  hear, 
As  told  by  the  gentle  physician 

In  accents  most  tender  and  clear. 

And  ever  the  sorrowful  answer, 

Her  spirit  to  sympathy  stirred, 
One  after  another  responded, 

"Ah!  no,  I  have  never  yet  heard.  " 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  107 

» 

The  home  was  a  home  filled  with  beauty, 
For  wealth  and  adornment  were  there, 
Long  corridors,  stately  and  ornate, 
And  courts  full  of  flowers  most  rare. 


And  the  daughter,  a  fair,  fading  blossom, 
Consumption  had  marked  for  his  own, 

Was  loved  with  as  tender  affection, 
As  human  love  ever  has  known. 


But  how  hopeless  and  dark  was  the  future, 
How  full  of  misgiving  and  dread, 

No  light  on  the  Valley  of  Shadows 
Their  vain  superstitions  had  shed. 

And  into  that  horror  of  darkness, 

Her  spirit  was  drifting  away, 
With  knowledge  of  only  dumb  idols, 

To  whom  in  its  anguish  to  pray. 

Oh!  Christians,  whose  earliest  childhood 
Was  bright  with  that  story  of  love, 

Is  there  nothing  wherewith  in  lifes  manhood 
Your  love  for  the  Master  to  prove  ? 

No  way,  through  your  own  lips  or  others, 
Thereby  you  may  utter  a  word 

In  the  ears  of  the  perishing  millions, 
Who  never  of  Jesus  have  heard  ? 


108  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


WHILE  I  SLEPT. 

ONE  day,  in  a  wide,  green  meadow, 
A  father  and  child  sat  down, 
To  rest,  'neath  a  great  tree's  shadow, 
Apart  from  the  busy  town. 

The  father  was  kind  and  tender, 
The  daughter,  a  child  of  three, 

Was  lovely  in  form  and  feature, 
As  fair  as  a  child  could  be. 

The  birds  in  the  boughs  sang  sweetly, 
And  hushed  was  the  drowsy  air, 

The  father  had  left  behind  him 
His  burden  of  work  and  care. 

And  while  the  little  one  prattled, 
And  gathered  the  blossoms  sweet, 

(  Great  handfulls  of  snow-white  daisies  ) 
And  scattered  them  at  his  feet, 

He  slept,  but  his  dreams  were  mingled 
With  voices  of  child  and  bird, 

With  rustle  of  lightest  footsteps, 
Or  leaves  by  the  soft  wind  stirred. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  1 09 

At  length  he  awoke  in  terror, 

A  silence  which  seemed  to  chill, 
Had  pierced  through  the  folds  of  slumber 

And  wakened  his  dormant  will. 


In  haste  and  in  fear  he  sought  her, 
Loud  calling  in  tenderest  tones, 

"Come  hither,  my  little  daughter, 
Oh!  where  has  my  dear  one  flown?  " 

But  echoes  alone  gave  answer, 
And  nothing  of  sight  or  sound, 

Betrayed  where  the  missing  darling 
Had  wandered,  and  might  be  found. 

At  last,  in  a  distant  corner, 

Where  sharply  the  bank  fell  down 

To  meet  with  the  rapid  river, 
Which  hurried  away  to  town, 

He  peered  through  the  gathering  shadows 

And  saw  on  the  rocks  below, 
A  tangle  of  silken  tresses, 

The  gleam  of  a  robe  of  snow. 

He  sprang  down  the  bank,  and  folded 
The  form  in  his  fond  embrace, 

And  covered  with  frenzied  kisses 
The  pallid  but  beautiful  face. 


110  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

In  vain — love  could  not  restore  her, 
And  ever  his  cry,  as  he  wept, 

"She  perished,  my  darling,  my  daughter, 
She  perished,  while  idly  I  slept." 

Oh!  Christians,  who  slumber  serenely, 
At  ease  in  your  pulpit  or  pew, 

Can  it  be,  that  such  bitter  repining, 
May  come  at  the  last  unto  you  ? 

When  the  years  of  your  dreaming  are  over, 
Will  you  waken  in  sorrow  to  weep  ? 

Are  friends  going  down  to  perdition, 
Are  souls  being  lost,  while  you  sleep  ? 


PALMS. 

FROM  out  Arabia's  burning  sands, 
The  stately  palm-trees  rise, 
Uplifting  feathery  fronds,  to  catch 

The  brightness  of  the  skies. 
Low  at  their  feet  the  quenchless  springs, 

Of  pure,  sweet  waters  flow, 
Affording  strength  and  sustenance, 
Wherewith  the  palm-trees  grow. 

The  winter's  storms,  the  summer's  heat, 

Unheeded  pass  their  way, 
The  palm-trees  spread  their  branches  clothed 

In  verdure  day  by  day. 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS.  I  1 1 

And  generations  come  and  go, 

And  gather  for  their  need 
From  luscious  clusters  drooping  low, 

The  fruit  whereof  they  feed. 

Thus  he,  whose  life  is  hid  with  Christ, 

Shall  like  the  palm-trees  grow, 
In  stately  beauty,  reaching  up, 

Where  airs  diviner  glow. 
By  streams  of  living  waters  fed, 

On  heavenly  hills  which  rise, 
The  fountain  is  God's  changeless  love, 

Which  nothing  good  denies. 

Temptations  beat  with  summer's  heat, 

About  his  path  at  will, 
The  world's  cold  scorn,  or  rude  rebuff, 

As  vainly  seek  to  chill. 
Day  after  day,  and  year  by  year, 

The  ripened  fruit  he  bears, 
Of  holy  living,  kindly  deeds, 

And  Christian  love  and  prayers. 


112  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


THE  RISEN  LORD. 

IN  the  gray  dawn  of  early  morn 
They  came,  with  willing  feet, 
The  loving  women  with  their  load 

Of  spices  rich  and  sweet. 
And  mournfully  and  tenderly. 

Oppressed  by  doubt  and  gloom, 
They  spake  of  Him,  the  crucified, 
Who  lay  within  the  tomb. 

His  words  of  gracious  sweetness,  sure 

They  never  could  forget, 
Though  on  the  lips  which  uttered  them, 

The  seal  of  death  was  set. 
Love  still  would  guard  the  cherished  form 

From  nature's  swift  decay; 
But  who  from  that  sealed  sepulcher 

Could  roll  the  stone  away? 

Thus  questioned  they  with  troubled  hearts, 

But  neither  grief  nor  fear 
Their  hastening  steps  delayed,  and  soon 

The  new-made  tomb  was  near — 
Behold!  in  place  of  sentinel 

Rock-hewn  and  grim  and  bare, 
An  angel,  with  a  smiling  face 

And  blessing,  met  them  there. 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS.  1 13 

»• 

How  oft  in  duty's  pathway  still 

The  great  stone  seems  to  lie: 
"The  way  is  hedged,  we  can  not  pass," 

In  bitterness  we  cry. 
But  pressing  boldly  toward  the  door 

We  find  it  open  stands, 
While  Joy  and  Blessing  smiling  wait 

And  greet  with  outstretched  hands. 

The  paths  of  Christian  usefulness 

Are  waiting  willing  feet, 
The  stone  is  rolled,  the  bolts  and  bars 

No  longer  hindering  meet. 
All  lands  are  ready  for  the  truth, 

Once  far-off  lands,  are  near, 
The  message  of  the  risen  Christ 

All  nations  wait  to  hear. 

"  Go,  tell  my  people  everywhere, 

I  go  before  them  still, 
I  lead,  I  dwell  with  those  who  strive 

To  do  my  work  and  will." 
The  Lord  is  risen,  Christian  hearts, 

Awake,  rejoice  and  sing! 
Spread  the  glad  tidings  far  and  wide, 

And  grateful  tribute  bring. 


114  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


PRAYER. 

HOW  shall  I  seek  for  what  my  soul  desires, 
How  ask  for  that  which  seemeth  best  to  me  ? 
With  strong  importunate  pleading  which  aspires 

To  move  the  throne  of  Heaven  on  bended  knee! 
With  faith  which  mountains  can  remove,  and  cast 
Into  the  sea  of  difficulties  passed  ? 

Strange  consciousness  of  power  must  rest  on  them 
Who  rising  from  long  sickness,  can  attain 

To  touch  of  His  celestial  robe  the  hem, 
And  know  no  more  of  weariness  or  pain; 

Who  ask  a  blessing,  and  the  answer  see, 
"According  to  thy  faith  be  it  to  thee." 

But  all  too  weak  my  hands,  too  dim  mine  eyes, 
Too  short  my  sight,  such  swift  response  to  see; 

I  know  not  if  the  thing  I  seek  were  wise, 
If  that  which  seems  so  fair  were  best  for  me; 

I  can  not  claim  by  right  the  fruit,  whose  wine 
Might  change  to  bitterness  on  lips  of  mine. 

For  they  are  many  who  have  lived  to  bless 
The  hand  which  oft  withheld  the  gift  desired, 

Whose  prayers  unanswered  claim  a  larger  stress 
Of  gratitude  than  things  by  prayer  acquired. 

Who  asked  unwittingly,  and  blindly  sought, 
What  countless  evils  in  its  train  had  brought. 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS.  115 

But  this  I  know,  dear  Lord,  thy  loving  hand 

All  seeming  ill  can  overrule  for  good, 
Though  leading  through  what  seems  a  barren  land 

Thy  care  will  well  supply  the  needed  food; 
And  kept  in  perfect  peace  his  soul  shall  be, 

Whose  trust,  in  storm  or  calm,  is  stayed  on  thee. 

This  then  my  prayer,  that  Thou  wilt  grant  each  day 
The  strength  required  its  duties  to  fulfill, 

And  grace  sufficient  for  whatever  may 
My  portion  be,  of  earthly  good  or  ill. 

In  joy  or  sorrow,  with  each  rising  sun 
To  say,  "  Father,  thy  holy  will  be  done." 


GOD'S  HOUSE. 

"  Howbeit  the  Most  High  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands." 

BY  God's  command,  in  ancient  days, 
His  people  built,  for  prayer  and  praise, 
A  tabernacle  they  could  bear 
Along  their  journeying  with  care. 
Wherein  the  table  of  his  law 
Might  rest,  and  where  with  solemn  awe, 
His  priests  might  daily  enter  in, 
To  offer  sacrifice  for  sin. 
And  ever  in  the  holiest  place, 
Where  cherubim  with  smiling  face, 
Their  golden  wings  out-stretched,  to  meet 
Above  the  sacred  mercy  seat, 


Il6  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

And  where  alone  the  high-priest  knelt, 

The  symbols  of  Jehovah  dwelt, 

A  visible  and  outward  sign 

Of  presence  holy  and  divine. 

And  when  at  length,  that  wandering  band, 

Of  strangers  in  a  desert  land, 

Had  reached  and  won  their  place  and  home, 

A  mighty  nation  had  become — 

And  kings,  with  wealth  and  wisdom  crowned, 

Upon  their  regal  throne  were  found, 

With  Solomon  in  glad  accord 

They  reared  the  temple  of  the  Lord. 

A  splendid  structure,  which  should  stand, 

A  beacon  light  to  all  the  land, 

And  to  the  heathen  world  proclaim, 

"  One  God,  Jehovah  is  his  name." 


If  mortal  man  might  build  a  place 
For  him,  who  fills  all  heavenly  space, 
If  carven  wood  and  gems  and  gold 
In  bonds  the  mighty  God  might  hold, 
No  fairer  palace  need  be  sought, 
Than  skill  of  Soloman  had  wrought. 
With  treasures  gathered  from  afar. 
With  wealth  of  peace  and  spoil  of  war, 
With  gold  of  Ophir  deftly  won, 
And  cedars  tall  of  Lebanon, 
And  cunning  workman  sought  with  care 
The  holy  temple  to  prepare — 
In  silence  rose  the  walls  of  stone, 
Each  fitted  to  its  place  alone; 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 

No  sound  of  hammer  there  was  heard, 

Nor  blow  of  axe  the  zephyr  stirred, 

But  beam  on  beam  with  matchless  skill 

Rose,  its  appointed  place  to  fill, 

And  door  and  floor  and  column  tall, 

And  oracle,  and  carved  wall, 

Were  overlaid  with  lavish  hand 

In  gold,  by  Solomon's  command. 

With  patient  skill  the  workmen  wrought, 

And  when  to  full  completion  brought, 

And  while  the  gathered  nation  poured 

Their  sacrifice,  before  the  Lord, 

The  glory  of  his  presence  came 

To  overshadow  like  a  flame, 

The  temple  honored  by  his  name. 

Doth  he,  who  filleth  with  his  grace, 

The  vast  immensity  of  space, 

Who  formed  the  earth,  and  spread  on  high 

The  azure  canopy  of  sky, 

With  worlds  on  worlds,  and  lit  in  turn, 

The  dazzling  suns  which  blaze  and  burn, 

Doth  He  require  through  human  care, 

An  earthly  dwelling-place  to  share  ? 

Enthroned  in  majesty  above, 

Encompassed  by  eternal  love, 

He  hath  no  need  than  man  should  bring 

To  him  the  humble  offering, 

Of  gilded  wall  or  chiselled  stone, 

Who  hath  the  universe  his  own. 


I  1 8  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

But  we,  the  creatures  of  his  grace 
Subjected  still  to  time  and  place, 
We  gather  by  love's  common  law, 
That  haply  we  may  nearer  draw, 
And  wings  of  faith  and  prayer  employ, 
To  reach  the  primal  source  of  joy. 
And  thus  along  the  centuries  stand 
The  gray  catherdrals,  vast  and  grand, 
Which  wise  men,  in  religious  mood, 
Built  for  their  own  and  others  good. 
And  thus  throughout  our  own,  broad  land, 
From  east  to  west,  on  either  hand, 
We  mark  unnumbered  spires  arise, 
Like  fingers  pointing  to  the  skies, 
Which  tell  where  congregations  meet 
And  worship  at  the  Master's  feet. 


The  weary  traveler  sore  distressed, 
By  cold  and  hunger  long  oppressed, 
The  wayside  inn  with  pleasure  views, 
Where  food  and  rest  his  strength  renews, 
And  through  the  helpful  comfort  lent, 
Pursues  his  journey  well  content. 
Thus  to  the  strongest  of  our  race, 
Come  with  a  touch  of  saving  grace, 
The  rest  and  strength  along  the  road, 
We  gather  at  the  house  of  God, 
By  his  own  Spirit  comforted 
And  by  his  heavenly  manna  fed. 
Now,  as  of  old,  he  waits  to  greet 
His  children  at  the  mercy  seat, 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 

And  manifests'his  Spirit,  where 

Receptive  souls  await  in  prayer, 

While  those  who  gather  in  his  name, 

His  promised  presence  there,  may  claim. 

And  thus  through  means  we  well  may  prize, 

The  church  invisible  doth  rise, 

A  tower  of  strength,  and  broader  grown 

Than  narrow  walls  of  wood  and  stone, 

Embracing  in  its  power  to  bless, 

All  forms  of  human  wretchedness, 

The  church,  which  founded  on  Christ's  Word, 

Shall  ever  stand,  its  God  the  Lord. 


"  PEACE  ON  EARTH.  " 

THIS  was  the  song  which  the  angels  sang- 
Over  the  Judean  hills  it  rang, 
Telling  the  tale  of  Christ's  birth, 
To  nations  and  people  who  hearken  still — 
"  Glory  to  God,  and  God's  good  will, 
Peace,  his  peace  upon  earth." 

This  is  the  message  the  years  unfold, 
Made  clearer  now,  than  in  days  of  old, 

When  it  fell  on  the  shepherd's  ears. 
Like  a  falling  star  from  its  heavenly  height, 
Strange  in  its  sweetness  and  robed  in  light, 

But  filling  their  hearts  with  fears. 


I2O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

This  is  the  secret  which  Christmas  tells, 
Sweet  as  the  silvery  chime  of  its  bells, 

Over  and  over  again, 
Set  to  the  music  of  kindly  deeds, 
Which  clothes  the  naked,  the  hungry  feeds, 

"  Peace  and  good  will  to  men.  " 

Love  in  its  holy  unselfishness, 

Giving  its  own,  some  other  to  bless, 
This  is  the  Christly  love, 
That  wakes  in  the  heart  of  humanity  still, 
Blessing  and  joy,  and  peace  and  good-will, 
Which  the  angels  sing  above. 


THE  PLACE  OF  REST. 

OH!  land  of  rest, 
Beyond  the  toiling  and  the  tears, 
Beyond  the  doubting  and  the  fears, 

And  joy  repressed, 
Which  dim  the  beauty  of  this  life, 
And  make  us  feel  amid  its  strife, 
That  death  is  best. 

We  know  not  where 
Thy  peaceful  valleys  stretch  away, 
Bright  with  the  light  of  endless  day, 

And  skies  so  fair, 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  121 

Where  life's  pure  stream  forever  flows, 
And  fadeless  blooms  love's  thornless  rose, 
Whose  sweets  we  share. 

We  can  not  know 

What  work  our  hands  may  find  to  do, 
Where  all  are  good  and  pure  and  true, 

No  want  nor  woe, 
No  more  of  weariness  or  pain, 
No  grief  to  mar  or  sin  to  stain, 

Nor  tears  to  flow. 

But  this  is  best, 

Our  Savior  will  the  place  prepare, 
For  all  who  His  salvation  share, 

(Are  we  so  blest)  ? 
And  there  by  His  abounding  grace, 
We  each  shall  find  a  fitting  place, 

And  be  at  rest. 


122  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


THE  HEALING  TOUCH. 

AMID  the  eager  multitude 
Who  followed,  close  to  press 
And  catch  the  wondrous  words  of  Him 

Who  came  to  heal  and  bless, 
Was  one,  so  weak  and  ill  her  frame, 
She  scarcely  dared  his  notice  claim. 

Though  thrust  aside,  and  jostled  oft, 
By  those  who  backward  held, 

Still  nearer  to  his  side  she  stole, 
By  her  great  need  impelled; 

"If  I  but  touch  His  garment's  braid, 

I  shall  be  healed  and  blessed,"  she  said. 

A  moment,  and  the  seamless  robe, 
By  passing  breezes  fanned — 

To  which  her  humble  faith  had  clung — 
Was  wafted  to  her  hand. 

A  single  touch,  as  on  He  sped, 

And  all  her  pain  and  illness  fled. 

Dear  Lord,  whose  love  is  manifest, 

In  every  way  of  Thine, 
Here  still  are  sin-sick  souls,  who  wait 

The  healing  touch  divine. 
Walk  Thou  our  streets,  and  let  us  hear 
The  rustling  of  Thy  garments  near. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  123 

The  cares  of  life  surround  and  crowd — 

Thy  shining  face  to  hide — 
And  doubts  and  fears  a  conflict  wage 

To  keep  these  from  Thy  side. 
Come  Thou,  with  saving  power,  to  them, 
Though  they  but  touch  Thy  garment's  hem. 


THE  FIELD. 

"  A  MONO  so  many,  what  are  they, 
/I     Five  loaves,  two  fishes  small, 
Send  thou  the  multitude  away 

We  can  not  feed  them  all!  " 
Thus  reasoned  they,  who  once  had  seen 

Displayed,  the  power  divine, 
Which  at  the  Cana  marriage  feast 

Changed  water  into  wine. 

We  think  of  earth's  uncounted  hosts 

Who  never  heard  the  name 
Of  Him,  who  left  His  throne  of  light, 

And  as  their  Savior  came! 
We  shrink  appalled  before  the  thought, 

"And  who  are  we,"  we  cry, 
"  So  few  to  bear  the  bread  of  life 

To  those  who  faint  and  die!" 


124  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

But  He,  who  in  that  desert  place 

His  banquet  freely  spread, 
And  fed  the  hungry  thousands  there, 

Is  not  He  still  our  head  ? 
"Go  ye  in  all  the  world,"  He  saith, 

"And  everywhere  proclaim 
(Where  still  earth's  teeming  millions  wait) 

This  gospel  in  My  name." 


TRUTH. 

QCATTER  the  seeds  of  truth, 

O     Beside  all  waters  sow, 

The  germs  wait  in  immortal  youth 

God's  time  wherein  to  grow. 
Fear  not!   though  the  long  night 

Its  shadows  o'er  them  cast, 
A  thousand  years  are  in  God's  sight 

As  yesterday,  when  passed. 

Not  every  one  who  sows, 

Perchance  with  tears  and  pain, 
The  blessed  privilege  e'er  knows 

Of  gathering  in  the  grain. 
It  may  be  thine  to  till, 

Another's  hand  to  reap, 
But  duty's  record,  faithful  still, 

Eternal  love  shall  keep. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  125 

Think  not  truth  disappears 

Within  the  age's  tomb, 
The  aloe  sleeps  a  hundred  years, 

Then  bursts  in  sudden  bloom; 
And  time,  the  handmaid  fair, 

Brings  round  the  perfect  hour, 
While  labor  doth  the  soul  prepare, 

To  wake  the  century's  flower. 

Truth,  like  a  river  deep, 

Fed  by  unnumbered  rills, 
Where  hidden  springs  in  silence  keep, 

Eternal  as  the  hills, 
Its  own  deep  channel  wears, 

Still  broadening  toward  the  sea, 
And  life  within  its  bosom  bears 

On  to  eternity. 

Truth  shall  all  barriers  break, 

And  whether  late  or  soon, 
With  the  strong  flow  of  tides  which  make 

Beneath  the  harvest  moon, 
Shall  flood  the  world  with  light — 

A  never-setting  sun; 
While  error  hides  in  darkest  night, 

For  God  and  truth  are  one. 


126  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

THE  TRIED  STONE. 

"  Behold,  I  lay  in  Zion  a  chief  corner  stone." 

STONE  upon  stone,  the  granite  pile 
Uprose  in  massive  strength, 
A  work  of  art,  which  seemed  to  bring 
Completion  near  at  length. 

With  nicest  care  each  carven  block 

Allotted  space  to  fill, 
Was  chiselled  by  a  master's  hand, 

Obeyed  a  master's  will. 

When  suddenly,  from  dome  to  base 

A  shiver  seemed  to  run, 
The  patient  work  of  weary  months 

A  moment  had  undone. 

The  corner  stone  imperfect  proved, 

A  flaw  so  slight,  the  care 
Of  skillful  workmen's  practiced  eyes, 

Had  scarce  perceived  it  there. 

But  tested  by  that  crushing  weight 
It  yielded,  marred  and  bent — 

And  lo!  a  seam  from  base  to  dome 
The  splendid  structure  rent. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  127 

But  not  like  this,  thene  corr  stone 

Of  old  in  Zion  laid, 
Whereon  to  build  the  church  of  God, 

With  majesty  arrayed. 

Rejected  by  the  builders  oft, 

By  men,  despised,  betrayed, 
Jesus,  the  well  beloved  son. 

The  corner  stone  was  made. 

Tried  in  temptation's  fiercest  fires, 

Ambition,  avarice,  fame, 
The  glittering  pomp  of  wealth  and  power, 

With  pleading  voices  came. 

In  music  sweet  to  human  ears, 

He  heard  the  children  sing — 
Casting  their  garments  at  his  feet — 

"  Hosanna  to  the  King." 

By  bitter  persecution  tried, 

Hatred  and  malice  sped 
To  pour  the  vials  of  their  wrath 

On  his  devoted  head. 

The  heavy  cross,  the  open  shame, 

The  death  of  torture  slow, 
The  burden  of  a  great  world's  guilt, 

A  great  world's  weight  of  woe. 

By  friends  deserted  and  denied, 

By  foes  without;  within, 
In  all  points  tempted,  tested,  tried, 

But  ever  without  sin. 


128  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Build  wide,  build  high  the  Christian  church 

Upon  this  corner  stone, 
A  tower  of  strength  its  walls  will  prove, 

And  God  will  bless  his  own. 


WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT? 

WATCHMAN,  from  thy  lofty  tower 
Peering  through  earth's  gloomy  night, 
Tell  us,  at  the  present  hour 

Can'st  thou  see  the  morning's  light  ? 
Are  the  mountain  tops  sun-kissed, 

Hath  the  dawn  unbarred  her  way, 
Skies  of  pink  and  amethyst, 
Ushering  in  the  golden  day  ?" 

"  Yes."  the  watchman's  voice  replies, 

"Though  the  night  of  sin  is  long, 
There  is  promise  in  the  skies, 

Hope  for  man,  for  God  is  strong, 
And  His  spirit  rests  with  power 

On  His  people;  while  they  pray 
Falls  the  pentacostal  shower 

Full  of  blessing  on  their  way." 

Not  alone,  the  watchman  dwells, 

Shut  his  guarded  tower  within; 
But  a  mighty  army  swells, 

Beating  back  the  hosts  of  sin, 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  I  29 


Lifting  up  the  standard  high 

In  His  name  on  whom  they  call; 

Hear  ye  not  the  battle-cry  ? 

"  God  and  Christ  shall  conquer  all !  " 

In  the  promises  is  light, 

God,  the  mighty  God,  shall  give 
Strength  and  victory,  to  the  right, 

And  His  truth  forever  live. 
Down  the  ages  floats  His  voice, 

Father,  Comforter,  and  Friend, 
Pledged  in  one,  work  on,  rejoice, 

"I  am  with  you  to  the  end." 


THE  ANSWER. 

"Ask  and  ye  shall  receive." 

A  FRAIL  and  helpless  crippled  child 
Lay  on  her  little  bed 
And  sighed:  "How  worthless  is  my  life, 

'T'were  better  I  were  dead! 
My  feet  can  on  no  errands  run, 

My  hands  no  service  give, 
My  voice,  alas!  is  but  a  moan, 
And  wherefore  should  I  live  ?" 

Thus  to  her  friend  and  pastor  spake 

The  little  girl  one  day, 
Who  answered:  "  There  is  power  in  prayer, 

Dear  child,  and  you  can  pray." 


I3O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  seed,  wind-wafted  by  his  words, 

Sprang  up  within  her  soul, 
And  thenceforth  from  her  bed  of  pain 

Her  prayers  like  incense  stole. 

A  little  while,  and  all  around, 

Sweet  showers  of  blessing  came, 
And  dumb  lips  spake,  and  hearts  were  touched 

By  Pentacostal  flame; 
And  souls  from  darkness  into  light 

By  hands  unseen  were  led, 
Three-score,  into  God's  kingdom  born, 

Who  erst  in  sin  were  dead. 

• 

Then  to  the  crippled  child  release 

By  God's  command  was  given, 
The  pain-racked  frame  no  longer  held 

The  spirit  ripe  for  Heaven. 
And  'neath  her  pillowed  head  was  found 

A  slip  of  paper  laid, 
With  sixty  names  inscribed  thereon, 

The  souls  for  whom  she  prayed. 

Her  life  was  brief,  a  little  span, 

The  end  a  glad  release, 
For  sorrows  compassed  her  about, 

And  only  death  brought  peace. 
But  on  the  crown  prepared  for  her — 

A  diadem  complete — 
These  names  were  set,  as  stars  to  shine 

And  laid  at  Jesus'  feet. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  13! 


WILLING    SERVICE. 

O  build  me  a  house,"  said  the  Master, 

"  A  place  where  my  name  shall  be  known, 
A  beautiful  tent  for  my  worship, 

The  pattern  to  you  shall  be  shown, 
Go,  gather  the  gold  and  the  jewels, 

Which  all  the  true-hearted  shall  bear 
And  build  up  a  place  for  mine  altars, 
My  presence  shall  dwell  with  you  there." 

Then  Moses  returned  to  the  people, 

And  gave  them  the  message  he  brought, 
And  swiftly  was  heaped  at  his  bidding 

The  gold  and  the  silver  he  sought. 
They  cheerfully  poured  out  their  treasures, 

All  eager  the  work  to  begin, 
While  the  blue  and  the  purple,  fine  linen, 

The  wise-hearted  women  did  spin. 

They  proffered  their  bracelets  and  earrings, 

Those  free-hearted  women  of  old, 
And  brought  their  most  precious  of  jewels, 

Their  rings  and  their  fillets  of  gold. 
And  soon  rose  the  Lord's  sanctuary. 

All  fair  was  the  dwelling  within, 
With  curtains  of  goat's  hair  and  linen, 

The  wise-hearted  women  did  spin. 


132  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

So  stirred  were  the  hearts  of  the  people, 

So  freely  they  brought  of  their  store, 
The  leaders  were  forced  to  restrain  them, 

For  building  they  needed  no  more. 
The  cloud  and  the  flame  hovered  over, 

In  token  of  work  nobly  done, 
The  glory  of  God  was  enfolded 

In  curtains  the  women  had  spun. 

Like  them,  let  us  bring  to  God's  service, 

Oh!  wise-hearted  women,  to  day, 
Whatever  of  gold  or  of  silver, 

Of  love  or  of  labor  we  may, 
'Till  His  temples  are  everywhere  builded, 

His  banner  in  all  lands  unfurled, 
And  Christ  with  his  people  abiding, 

His  glory  shall  fill  the  whole  world. 


CHRIST  AT  THE  WELL. 

TO  Jacob's  ancient  fountain, 
With  waters  deep  and  still, 
The  woman  of  Samaria 

Her  bucket  brought,  to  fill. 
And  'mid  the  gathering  shadows 

Beheld  a  stranger  there, 
Who  waited,  worn  and  weary, 
The  cooling  draught  to  share. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  133 

And  as  she  gave,  he  told  her 

Of  things  so  strangely  true, 
Her  troubled  conscience  pained  her 

For  secrets  which  he  knew. 
He  told  her  of  that  Fountain 

Whence  healing  waters  flow, 
And  whosoever  drinketh 

Thereof,  no  thirst  shall  know. 

And  still,  along  life's  pathway, 

On  mountain  top,  or  dell, 
Where  e'er  we  draw  for  water, 

Christ  sits  beside  the  well. 
One  drinks  of  worldly  pleasure, 

But  hears  his  gentle  voice, 
"  There  is  a  joy  unmeasured 

Thy  spirit  to  rejoice." 

One  bows  before  ambition, 

And  clasps  the  flowing  bowl 
Whose  fiery  waters  shrivel, 

And  dwarf  the  human  soul. 
Then  speaks  the  voice  of  Jesus, 

"  Drink  of  the  draught  I  bring, 
Ye  shall  be  sons  and  daughters, 

Of  the  eternal  King." 

One  thinks  with  earthly  riches 

His  soul  to  satisfy, 
And  gathers  gold  and  jewels 

A  measureless  supply — 


134  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Christ  says:  "  In  earthly  garners 
The  moth  and  rust  decay, 

But  here  is  heavenly  treasure, 
Which  fadeth  not  away." 

And  one,  by  love's  sweet  fountain, 

Drinks  of  its  waters  pure, 
And  dreams  of  joys  unchanging, 

Which  shall  through  time  endure — 
But  sees  through  blinding  tear-drops, 

His  cherished  ones  depart, 
And  Jesus  softly  whispers, 

"Son,  give  to  me  thine  heart." 

And  one,  by  sorrow  chastened, 

The  bitter  cup  has  quaffed, 
And  wounded,  weak,  and  fainting, 

Made  helpless  by  the  draught — 
Feels  like  a  benediction, 

The  touch  of  hand  divine, 
And  hears  the  tone  of  pity, 

"  Thy  sorrows  all  are  mine." 

And  one,  by  death's  cold  waters, 

That  last,  sad  cup  must  drink, 
Though  heart  within  him  faileth 

And  flesh  in  terror  shrink, 
"I  give  thee  life  eternal," 

The  voice  of  Jesus  cries, 
"I  give  thee  bliss  supernal, 

A  home  beyond  the  skies." 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS.  135 


LOOK  AND  LIVE. 

OTUNG  by  the  serpent's  fiery  fangs, 

O     Along  the  lonely  plain, 

The  murmuring  and  rebellious  hosts 

Of  Israel  were  slain. 
Awe-struck  and  trembling,  while  their  dead 

In  heaps  about  them  lay, 
The  living  and  repentant  thronged 

At  Moses'  feet  to  pray. 

"  Help  us,  pray  for  us,  we  have  sinned," 

Rang  out  their  pleading  cry; 
"  Beseech  the  Lord  to  pity  us, 

Ere  all  thy  people  die." 
Then  bowed  the  leader  with  his  host 

Before  the  mighty  God, 
And  prayer  for  Israel  lifted  up, 

"  Remove  Thy  chastening  rod." 

He  heard  who  veiled  from  them  His  face 

By  pillared  cloud  and  flame, 
And  from  His  heavenly  dwelling  place 

The  gracious  answer  came: 
"  The  God  of  all  is  merciful, 

He  will  their  sin  forgive; 
Lift  high  the  brazen  serpent  up, 

And  all  who  look  shall  live." 


136  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Still  through  the  plains  of  discontent 

There  throngs  a  weary  band. 
And  Edom  must  be  compassed  ere 

They  reach  the  promised  land. 
Sin's  fiery  serpents  round  them  hiss, 

With  venomed,  deadly  sting, 
And  only  Christ,  the  crucified, 

Can  their  deliverance  bring. 

They  wait  the  healing  of  His  grace, 

Forgiveness  through  His  name; 
They  wait  for  the  uplifted  cross, 

Salvation  to  proclaim. 
'Tis  ours,  the  blessed  truths  of  God 

This  dying  world  to  give; 
'Tis  ours,  to  lift  Christ's  standard  high, 

That  all  may  look  and  live. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  137 


AWAKENING. 

FROM  sleep  the  brown  earth  springs, 
And  robed  in  garments  new 
With  lips  all  wet  with  dew 
The  rapturous  song  of  life  re-sings. 

Her  myriad  tongues  upraise, 

In  roseate  flush  of  dawn 

And  flower-besprinkled  lawn, 
The  voiceless  orisons  of  praise. 

From  sea  to  farthest  shore, 

Through  glossy-feathered  throats, 
Their  liquid  mellow  notes, 

Her  choir  of  singing-birds  outpour. 

To  fringe  and  flower  her  trees, 

Her  vast  alembic  fills, 

And  incense  sweet  distils, 
Borne  Heavenward  on  each  passing  breeze. 

When  altar-fires  are  red, 

And  praise  from  earth's  cold  sod, 

Ascends  to  nature's  God, 
Shall  human  hearts  alone  be  dead  ? 

Thou  Fount  of  life  supreme, 

Whence  earth  and  air  are  thrilled 
And  worlds  uncounted  filled, 

Awake  us  from  our  winter's  dream. 


138  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

SUSTAINING  GRACE. 

"  I  bare  you  on  eagle's  wings." 

FROM  mountain  eyrie  bold  and  high, 
The  half-fledged  eaglet  flies. 
Content  his  new-found  wings  to  try 

And  soar  to  sunnier  skies: 
A  moment  hovers  tremblingly, 

On  wide  wings  tipped  with  snow, 
O'er  beetling  crag  and  jagged  rock 

And  yawning  gulf  below, 
Then  with  swift  pinions  cuts  the  air, 

And  turns  his  undimmed  eye 
To  fields  of  sunny  ether,  where 

His  eagle  brothers  fly. 

But  wearied  soon,  the  young  wings  droop, 

Unused  such  weight  to  bear, 
The  tired  bird  sinks,  and  soon  must  fall 

Save  for  the  mother's  care, 
On  strong,  swift  wings  she  hovers  near, 

With  loving,  watchful  eye, 
She  glides  beneath  the  sinking  form 

And  bears  it  safe  on  high. 
On  eagle's  wings,  in  truth,  he  soars, 

The  tireless,  grand  and  free, 
Which  safely  bear  him  to  his  home, 

By  craggy  cliff  or  sea. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  139 

So  pityingly,  so  tenderly, 

The  loving  Father's  hand 
Brought  forth  His  ancient  people,  from 

The  dark  Egyptian  land. 
Their  faith  upheld  by  mighty  signs 

And  wonders  all  the  way, 
The  cloudy  pillar  and  the  fire, 

To  guide  by  night  and  day. 
O'er  trackless  desert  wastes,  and  through 

The  deep,  engulfing  sea, 
By  manna  fed,  to  Canaan  led 

A  nation  strong  and  free. 

And  thus,  Oh!  fainting,  trembling  soul, 

His  grace  shall  thee  sustain, 
And  lead  thee  to  His  promised  land; 

Perchance  through  paths  of  pain, 
Or  seas  of  trouble  deep  and  wide, 

Or  barren  wastes  of  toil, 
Or  parched  and  murmuring  by  the  way, 

While  sins  thy  goods  despoil; 
Turned  back,  by  giant  doubts  and  fears, 

Which  throng  the  border  land, 
And  shrinking  from  the  Jordan  cold, 

Whose  waves  still  wash  its  strand. 

But  patiently  He  bears  with  thee, 

Thy  devious  journey  through, 
The  manna  of  His  changeless  love 

Falls  on  thy  path  like  dew, 
Thy  guide  in  darkness  as  in  day, 

His  Christ  once  crucified, 


I4O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  pillar  and  the  flame  shall  be, 

Forever  by  thy  side, 
His  grace  like  eagle's  wings  shall  bear 

When  dangers  threaten  thee, 
And  bring  thee  to  Himself  at  last, 

A  soul  redeemed  and  free. 


THE  LORD'S. 

'T'HE  silver  and  gold,  are  mine,  saith  the  Lord, 

1       The  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills, 
Deep  down  in  the  earth  my  gems  are  stored, 
My  pastures  are  green  beside  the  rills. 

My  sunshine  warms,  and  my  cool  breeze  fans, 
The  fields  of  grain,  where  the  soft  dews  fall, 

And  showers  of  blessing  drop  from  My  hands, 
For  the  earth  is  Mine  and  its  fullness  all. 

And  men  are  My  stewards,  they  hoe  and  till, 
They  gather  in  garners  from  field  and  vine, 

And  barter  their  merchandise  at  will, 

But  they,  and  the  treasures  they  heap,  are  mine. 


RELIGIOUS    POEMS.  141 


WHAT  IS  IT,  IN  THY  HAND? 

ALONE,  before  the  Holy  One, 
And  trembling,     Moses  stood, 
"  How  is  it,  I,  a  sinful  man, 

Can  work  this  wondrous  good  ? 
The  people  will  not  hear  my  voice 

Nor  listen  when  I  speak; 
For  I  am  slow  of  utterance, 
And  sinful,  Lord,  and  weak.  " 

Before  him  in  its  brightness  burned 

The  unconsuming  flame, 
The  glory  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

From  whence  the  answer  came — 
44  But  thou  shall  lead  my  people  forth, 

Jehovah  gives  command, 
And  surely  I  will  go  with  thee, 

What  is  it  in  thine  hand  ?  " 

So  Moses  answered,  "  But  a  rod.  " 

"  Then  cast  it  to  the  ground,  " 
And  lo!  a  gliding  serpent  form 

In  place  of  it  was  found. 
41  Put  forth  thy  hand,  and  take  again, 

That  thou  mayest  know  this  hour, 
The  God  who  giveth  work  to  thee, 

Endoweth  thee  with  power." 


142  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Take  courage,  Christian  hearts,  to-day, 

For  evermore  the  same, 
Is  He  who  led  forth  Israel's  hosts, 

Jehovah  is  his  name. 
Still  with  the  people  of  his  love 

He  walks  with  shining  face, 
And  to  the  humblest  follower, 

He  gives  the  needed  grace. 

"  What  is  it  in  thy  hand  ?"     He  saith; 

Though  but  a  shepherd's  rod, 
An  instrument  of  power  t'will  prove 

In  service  for  thy  God. 
Be  swift  to  use,  be  strong  and  glad 

The  needed  toil  to  bear; 
For  victory  is  with  the  Lord, 

And  all  his  people  share. 

Some  humble  instrument  of  toil, 

Some  wealth  at  thy  command, 
Some  gift  to  teach,  some  song  to  sing, 

What  is  it  in  thy  hand  ? 
Bring  to  His  storehouse  all  the  tithes, 

In  humble  faith  and  love, 
And  consecrated  service  there, 

God's  blessing  soon  shall  prove. 


RELIGIOUS   POEMS.  143 


ABIDE  WITH  ME. 

"  Abide  with  us  for  the  day  waneth.  " 

ABIDE  with  me,  oh!  Christ,  amid  lifes  conflicts, 
Its  days  of  toil,  and  nights  of  weariness, 
Amid  the  hurry  of  its  ceaseless  striving, 
Abide  with  me  to  bless. 

Abide  with  me,  in  every  hour  of  trial — 

My  lips  must  press  the  bitter  cup  of  pain, 
By  anguish  wrung,  the  tears  of  human  weakness, 
My  pillow  oft  will  stain. 

Abide  with  me,  in  hours  of  deepest  sorrow, 

My  loved  are  passing,  one  by  one,  before 
The  young  and  fair,  the  strong  and  true,  still  hasten 
On,  to  the  other  shore. 

Abide  with  me,  my  day  of  life  is  waning, 

The  years  are  few,  between  me  and  the  grave, 
Soon  I  shall  meet  the  Future,  vast,  eternal, 
And  Thou  alone  canst  save. 

Abide  with  me,  in  that  dread  hour  of  terror, 

When  soul  and  body  sundered  are,  for  aye, 
Abide  with  me  and  guide  my  helpless  spirit. 
To  realms  beyond  the  sky. 


144  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Abide  with  me,  oh!  blessed  Christ,  when  trembling 

Before  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth,  I  stand, 
When  I  wouid  sink  beneath  sin's  dreadful  burden, 
Uphold  me  by  thy  hand. 

And  wheresoe'er  my  place,  by  him  appointed, 

To  spend  a  long  eternity  shall  be, 
I  know  a  Heaven  of  happiness  awaits  me    % 
If  Thou  abide  with  me. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS. 


THE  THREE  FRIENDS. 

THREE  maidens  sat  in  the  sunset  glow, 
As  friend  with  friend  would  meet; 
And  talked  together  in  accents  low — 
And  one  was  pale  as  the  lily's  snow, 
And  one  had  cheeks  like  the  rose's  blow, 
And  all  were  fair  and  sweet. 

From  childhood's  dawn  to  its  closing  day, 

Their  lives,  like  a  pleasant  rill, 
Had  rippled  along  the  selfsame  way, 
They  had  shared  each  other's  books  and  play, 
And  whether  merry,  or  sad,  or  gay, 

They  had  loved  each  other  still. 

But  now  before  them  lay  paths  untried, 

Awaiting  their  willing  feet — 
The  hills  would  the  narrow  streams  divide, 
The  rills  become  rivers,  deep  and  wide, 
To  hurry  on  with  a  swollen  tide, 

In  the  ocean  depths  to  meet. 

"  I  go"  said  one!  "as  a  happy  bride, 
In  my  loved  one's  home  to  dwell, 
He  has  chosen  me  from  the  world  beside, 
And  whatever  of  joy  or  woe  betide, 
I  shall  safely  walk  by  a  strong  man's  side, 
And  carry  my  burdens  well." 


148  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Then  said  another  "  I  thirst  to  drink, 

From  the  waters  pure  and  sweet, 
Of  knowledge — lesser  aims  must  sink, 
The  way  is  steep,  but  I  shall  not  shrink, 
I  will  climb  to  the  crystal  fountain's  brink, 
E'er  I  rest  my  weary  feet 

"And  when  from  the  fount  my  cup  I  bear, 

With  the  dews  distilled  above, 
I  will  pour  for  others  a  generous  share, 
And  brighten  the  ways,  so  filled  with  care, 
For  this  has  been,  and  is  still  my  prayer; 
Not  yet  is  the  time  for  love." 

And  the  third  one  said,  "I  know  not  yet 

What  the  future  bears  for  me, 
But  a  pleasant  home  I  can  ne'er  forget — 
And  to  me  it  seems,  like  a  jewel  set 
In  a  golden  band  where  gems  have  met, 

A  woman's  best  life  must  be." 

They  met  no  more  in  that  sunset  bower; 

When  a  few  brief  months  had  flown, 
The  fair,  young  bride,  with  her  regal  dower 
Of  health,  and  beauty,  and  wealth  and  power 
Was  stricken  down  in  a  single  hour, 

And  the  strong  man  wept  alone. 

And  the  scholar  lay  on  a  bed  of  pain, 

As  the  weary  weeks  went  by, 
And  heard  from  above,  the  sweet  refrain, 


MEMORIAL   POEMS.  149 

"Come  hither,  earth's  loss  is  heavenly  gain, 
Thy  wish  and  thy  prayer  were  not  in  vain, 
For  the  crystal  fount  is  nigh." 

The  third  one  found  in  the  path  she  trod, 
The  friend  whom  her  heart  would  wed, 

And  true  to  her  duty  and  home  and  God, 

Prepared  to  go — but  the  valley's  clod, 

And  a  narrow  chamber  beneath  the  sod, 
Were  made  for  her  bridal  bed. 

f 
The  arrow  its  mission  must  fulfill, 

And  the  archer's  hand  obey, 
The  shaft  was  sent  by  a  Father's  will — 
And  robed  in  her  bridal  beauty,  still 
And  white,  as  a  winter  frozen  rill, 

She  slept  on  her  wedding  day.    • 

The  three  had  passed  through  the  gates  ajar, 

And  entered  the  promised  land. 
Beyond  the  sun  and  the  farthest  star, 
Through  a  pathway  of  light,  o'er  the  hills  afar, 
In  the  home  where  the  many  mansions  are, 

They  met  with  a  clasping  hand. 

The  life,  so  brief  to  our  mortal  sight, 
Ere  quenched  in  the  darkness  of  tears, 

With  songs  of  the  ransomed,  in  glory  bright, 

And  harps  and  palms  and  garments  of  white, 

Flows  freely  on,  like  a  river  of  light, 
In  the  peace  of  unending  years. 


150  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


ASLEEP. 

FOLD  the  tired  hands  on  his  breast, 
Leave  him  to  his  dreamless  rest; 
Night,  with  dark  and  solemn  brow, 
Hides  him  in  her  chamber  now, 
And  while  years  their  numbers  tell, 
He  shall  slumber  deep  and  well.  • 

Mourn  not  o'er  the  narrow  bed, 

Soft  it  pilloweth  his  head, 

Earth's  rude  storms  above  him  beat, 

Howls  the  tempest  at  his  feet: 

Yet  they  wake  no  fever  now, 

Quickened  pulse  nor  throbbing  brow. 

Chisel  out  the  stone  with  care, 
Plant  the  roses  thickly  there, 
Thornless  roses,  bid  them  bloom 
Sweetly,  on  the  Christian's  tomb, 
Freed  from  sorrow  sin  and  pain, 
He  shall  waken  yet  again. 

Waken?  Nay  he  doth  not  sleep, 
Wherefore  o'er  the  low  mound  weep, 
There  the  burden  which  he  bore, 
There  the  cast-off  robe  he  wore, 
He  has  reached  life's  highest  goal, 
Death  could  never  bind  the  soul. 


MEMORIAL    POEMS. 

There  the  empty  cage  alone, 
Whence  the  singing  bird  has  flown, 
Soaring  to  that  land  of  light, 
Where  the  worthy  walk  in  white; 
Where  no  notes  of  sorrow  ring, 
With  the  song  the  ransomed  sing. 

He  has  crossed  the  narrow  street, 
Where  the  seen  and  unseen  meet, 
Pain,  and  sin,  and  want,  and  woe, 
Wailing  through  life's  plaint  below, 
Peace  and  triumph,  joy  and  love, 
Pealing  through  life's  song  above. 

Nevermore  for  him  death's  pain, 
Nevermore  earth's  sin  and  stain, 
Robed  anew  in  garments  pure, 
Which  forever  shall  endure: 
Let  the  empty  casket  lie, 
God  has  set  the  gem  on  high. 


152  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


OUR  BABY  BOY. 

THROUGH  long,  bright  months,  our  home 
he  filled 

With  beauty  and  with  joy, 
A  gift,  for  which,  we  oft  thanked  God, 
Our  winsome  baby  boy 

Broad  grew  his  noble  brow,  and  white, 

More  plump  his  rounded  arms, 
And  every  hour,  but  woke  anew, 

Some  added  infant  charms. 

Thus  passed  his  young  life  joyously, 

And  months  were  but  a  name, 
While  summer  regally  went  by, 

And  gorgeous  Autum  came. 

But  sudden  sickness  paled  his  cheeks, 

With  one  declining  day, 
And  laid  him  quiet  in  my  arms, 

Who  erst  had  been  at  play. 

Through  the  dim  watches  of  the  night, 

I  held  him  to  my  heart, 
Dumb  with  a  vague  but  shrinking  dread, 

A  fear  that  we  must  part. 


MEMORIAL    POEMS.  ,      153 

Morn  rose,  and  through  the  glowing  East, 

The  trooping  colors  came, 
Lighting  the  dim  arch  of  the  sky, 

With  hues  of  living  flame. 

But  paler  grew  my  baby's  brow, 

More  ghastly  white  his  cheek, 
And  heavier  lay  upon  my  heart 

The  thought  I  could  not  speak. 

Vain  the  wild  prayers,  we  breathed  to  Heaven, 

And  tears  which  fell  like  rain, 
God  was  too  good  to  grant  our  child 

Earth's  heritage  of  pain. 

Yet  watched  we  every  lingering  sign, 

And  hung  upon  each  breath, 
Striving  to  fan  life's  flickering  flame, 

And  baffle  even  death. 

But  breathings  of  immortal  life, 

His  spirit's  wings  had  stirred, 
And  long  before  the  sun  had  set, 

The  angel's  song  he  heard. 

Have  pity  on  our  weakness  Thou, 

Once  crucified  and  crowned; 
Grant  that  our  darling,  lost  on  earth, 

In  heaven  may  yet  be  found. 


54  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


MAY    3OTH. 

EVERENTLY,  tenderly,  scatter  the  flowers, 
1  \     Beauty  should  honor  the  brave — 
Earth  like  a  mother,  her  mantle  of  green, 
Folds  o'er  the  breast  of  each  sleeper  serene, 
Daisies  have  bloomed  o'er  these  brothers  of  ours 
Since  they  were  laid  in  the  grave. 

Patiently,  lovingly,  year  after  year, 

Hallow  the  turf  o'er  them  pressed; 
Storms  in  their  fury  above  them  have  beat, 
Winter  has  heaped  his  white  snows  at  their  feet, 
Let  the  glad  spring  of  refreshing  appear, 
To  brighten  the  place  of  their  rest. 

Gratefully,  tearfully  tell  how  they  wrought, 

Speak  of  the  goal  they  have  won — 
Worthy  is  he  of  the  chaplet  and  crown 
Who  for  another  his  life  hath  lain  down — 
Ours  is  the  recompense  victory  brought, 
Peace  when  the  battle  was  done. 

Solemnly,  earnestly,  over  them  plight 

Fealty  to  country  anew, 
Nearer  and  dearer  to  manhood  and  youth 
Make  the  old  virtues  of  honor  and  truth, 
Crown  him  the  hero,  who  dares  to  do  right, 
Dares  to  be  faithful  and  true. 


MEMORIAL   POEMS.  155 

Silently,  certainly,  thus  shall  the  hour 

Lessons  of  duty  impart, 
Peace  hath  her  triumphs  still  hard  to  attain, 
Brief  is  the  respite  from  traffic  and  gain — 
Sorrow  and  love  with  beneficent  power, 
Wait  for  each  reverent  heart. 


HIS  WILL. 

back,  come  back  "  we  cry, 
"  Oh!  thou  beloved  return," 
Stretching  out  pleading  hands, 

Dropping  the  tears  which  burn. 
There  comes  no  answer,  save 

The  voice  so  small  and  still, 
"  Be  hushed,  rebellious  heart, 
It  is  thy  Father's  will.  " 

"  Come  back,  the  years  are  long. 

Our  hearts  have  weary  grown, 
Waiting  thy  loving  smile, 

Missing  thy  tender  tone.  " 
No  answer  from  the  void — 

Dumb  is  death's  mystery, 
Save  the  eternal  word, 

"  Thy  Father  pitieth  thee.  " 

"  Come  back,  our  souls  are  tossed, 

On  sorrow's  stormy  sea, 
No  harbor  can  we  reach, 

Beloved,  apart  from  thee; 


156  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Is  thy  bark  moored  amid 
The  islands  of  the  blessed?" 

No  answer  save  the  cry, 
"But  I  will  give  thee  rest." 

"  My  thoughts  are  not  thy  thoughts, 

My  ways  are  not  thy  ways,  " 
Saith  the  unchanging  God, 

The  one  Ancient  of  days — 
"  High  as  the  heavens  above, 

Far  as  is  East  from  West, 
So  are  my  thoughts  removed, 

From  those  by  thee  possessed. 

"  But  one  thing  thou  dost  know, 

I  gave  my  Son,  to  be 
Thy  Savior,  shall  I  then 

Withhold  aught  good  from  thee  ? 
Thou  canst  not  understand, 

The  way  is  dark,  but  still 
Thou  canst  believe  and  trust, 

It  is  thy  Father's  will." 


MEMORIAL    POEMS.  157 


LUA. 

IN  the  full  bloom  of  gracious  womanhood, 
Loving  and  loved  of  all, 
From  home  of  luxury  and  light, 
She  passed  beyond  recall. 

A  tender,  faithful  wife,  a  mother  fond, 

A  friend  forever  kind, 
Her  sweet,  unselfish,  woman's  heart, 

Some  good  in  all  could  find. 

With  clear  conceptions  of  the  truth,  the  right, 
She  spurned  the  false,  the  wrong, 

And  builded  all  her  daily  life 
With  beauty  and  with  song. 

A  silent  angel  gently  led  her  where 

God's  splendor  fills  all  space, 
Through  Heaven's  unending  years  to  share 

The  glory  of  His  face. 


158  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


WHEREFORE  ? 

FOLD  the  hands  so  thin  and  small, 
Lightly  o'er  the  pulseless  breast, 
Though  your  tears  as  rain  shall  fall, 

They  will  not  disturb  her  rest — 
Though  her  children  round  her  stand, 

Calling  "Mamma"  o'er  and  o'er, 
E'en  at  touch  of  baby's  hand 
She  will  waken  nevermore. 

Wherefore,  standing  as  she  stood, 

Center  of  a  home,  till  now, 
With  the  crown  of  motherhood 

Resting  on  her  saintly  brow; 
Wherefore  was  she  called  so  soon, 

Called  to  lay  aside  her  crown, 
Ere  life's  sun  had  reached  high  noon, 

Care  and  comfort  to  lay  down. 

Though  we  question,  though  we  call, 

From  the  void  comes  no  reply, 
Death  and  silence  over  all, 

Heedless  of  our  bitter  cry; 
Silence,  though  the  voice  of  love, 

From  the  ages  gone  before, 
With  a  sound  all  sounds  above 

Thunder  at  the  sealed  door. 


MEMORIAL    POEMS.  159 

Yet  we  know,  a  hand  unknown 

Led  her  all  the  thorny  way, 
And  a  face  beside  her  shone, 

Through  the  darkness  as  the  day, 
Filling  all  her  soul  with  light, 

While  the  path  of  pain  she  trod, 
Guiding  through  death's  gloomy  night, 

To  the  paradise  of  God. 

Shall  we  question;  shall  we  doubt 

Love  unmeasured  led  the  way  ? 
Never  midnight  yet  without 

Morn  behind  it  waiting  lay. 
Let  the  blessing  of  God's  peace, 

Bid  the  stormy  sea,  "be  still," 
Sorrow's  sad  complaining  cease, 

At  the  fiat  of  His  will. 


ASSURANCE. 

"If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again?  " 

WHERE  hast  thou  flown,  oh!  friend 
of  mine? 
My  soul  goes  forth,  in  search  of  thine, 

In  search  o'er  land  and  sea; 
From  far  off  hills  of  glory  bright, 
Through  spaces  filled  with  heavenly  light, 
Canst  thou  not  come  to  me? 


I6O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

A  single  word,  a  touch,  a  sign, 
The  clasping  of  that  hand  of  thine, 

One  moment  as  of  yore, 
To  show  me  thou  dost  not  forget, 
To  tell  me  that  thou  lovest  yet, 

And  I  will  ask  no  more. 

I  would  not  have  thee  linger  here, 
But  show  me  that  thou  livest,  dear, 

That  death  no  triumph  knew, 
Beyond  the  frail  and  crumbling  clay, 
Blown  by  his  icy  breath  away, 

Like  drops  of  morning  dew. 

Through  trackless  space  I  fain  would  fly, 
With  yearning  strong  and  bitter  cry, 

The  cry  of  soul  for  soul — 
Bereft  and  desolate,  alone, 
Where'er  through  darkness  thou  hast  flown, 

To  reach  thy  heavenly  goal. 

Turn  back  a  moment  on  thy  way, 
And  give  to-night  one  glimpse  of  day, 

Assurance  so  divine; 
The  life  which  death  could  not  destroy, 
Thy  free,  glad  life  shall  touch  with  joy, 

And  thrill  this  heart  of  mine. 

Nay,  must  the  dead  return,  to  tell 
The  secrets  death  has  guarded  well, 
Doth  not  our  Lord  declare 


MEMORIAL    POEMS.  l6l 

That,  "where  I  am,  my  own  shall  be, 
And  there  forevermore  with  me, 
My  glory  they  shall  share?" 

Enough,  I  need  not  clasp  thy  hand, 
Since  thou  art  with  the  angel  band, 

Nor  could  I  hear  thee  call, 
For  deaf  and  dumb  and  blind  am  I, 
To  sign  or  language  of  the  sky, 

But  Christ  reveals  it  all. 


AMONG  THE  FLOWERS. 

'T'HEY  heaped  the  blossoms  above  her  grave, 

1       The  grave  of  our  beautiful  dead. 
Pale,  creamy  roses,  and  spotless  pinks, 

Together  their  perfumes  shed. 
And  the  lily-bells  and  forget-me-nots 

Were  blent  with  a  tender  grace, 
And  the  pansies  peered  from  amid  the  ferns, 

With  the  look  of  a  human  face. 

They  wove  a  pillow  to  symbol  her  rest, 

And  starry  gems  for  her  crown, 
And  lined  with  blossoms  the  chamber  dim, 

Where  we  laid  her  tenderly  down. 


1 62  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  air  was  heavy  with  fragrance,  born 
Of  the  wealth  of  the  summer's  bowers, 

But  the  fairest  rose  was  the  rose  we  hid 
Deep  under  the  mound  of  flowers. 

The  blossoms  will  perish,  their  petals  fall, 

Their  sweetness  will  wither  away, 
And  never  a  hint  of  their  beauty  remain, 

Through  the  glare  of  the  midsummer's  day. 
They  came  in  their  freshness  to  comfort  our  hearts, 

For  a  moment  to  brighten  the  sod, 
Our  rose  was  transplanted;  forever  to  bloom, 

In  the  beautiful  garden  of  God. 


RECOGNITION. 

THE  winter  night  was  dark  and  chill, 
The  wind,  through  leafless  trees, 
Swept  wildly  over  vale  and  hill, 
To  moan  on  lonely  seas. 

A  freighted  bark  slipped  from  life's  shore, 

Out  on  an  ebbing  tide, 
The  boatman  with  the  muffled  oar, 

Companion  was  and  guide. 

Companion  to  the  pure,  sweet  soul, 

Who  left  her  house  of  clay, 
In  darkness,  for  the  welcome  goal 

Of  everlasting  day. 


MEMORIAL   POEMS.  163 

O'er  seas  of  space  they  sped  afar, 

No  map  hath  shown  us  where 
The  Islands  of  the  Blessed  are, 

But  they  found  harbor  there. 

And  mid  the  throng  who  came  to  greet, 

Was  one  most  fair  and  bright, 
With  radiant  face  serenely  sweet, 

And  eyes  of  tender  light. 

Who  welcomed  with  a  joyous  cry, 

The  friend  of  other  days, 
Recalling  scenes  of  years  gone  by, 

With  words  of  love  and  praise. 

And  hand  in  hand  they  passed  along 

That  City's  streets  of  gold, 
Together  sang  the  glad  new  song, 

As  once  they  sang  the  old. 

Together  climbed  the  holy  heights, 

And  plucked  the  fadeless  flowers, 
Immortal  joys  and  pure  delights, 

Which  bloom  in  heavenly  bowers. 

And  laid  their  trophies  at  His  feet, 

Whose  priceless  love  had  given, 
An  earthly  life,  with  joy  replete, 

And  made  them  heirs  of  Heaven. 


1 64  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


VICTORY. 

I   THOUGHT  thine  was  the  victory,  oh,  grave! 
And  thine-the  bitter  sting,  oh,  death! 
When  unto  thee  my  own  beloved  gave 
Her  parting  breath. 

I  saw  thee  as  a  monster  rude  and  grim, 

Who  tore  life's  dearest  ties  apart, 
But  then,  alas!  mine  eyes  with  tears  were  dim 
And  sad  my  heart. 

How  could  I,  in  that  dreadful  hour,  behold 

The  radiance  on  thy  wings  of  light  ? 
To  me  thy  visage  was  most  stern  and  cold, 
And  dark  as  night. 

But  now  I  know  that  Christ  had  conquered  death, 

And  won  a  glorious  victory, 
"  The  rcssurrection  and  the  life,"  He  saith 
"Are  found  in  Me." 

'Twas  but  a  gentle  angel  whom  he  sent, 

From  pain  my  darling  to  set  free; 
The  grave  was  but  the  open  way  they  went, 
With  Christ  to  be. 

And  when  my  work  is  done  and  I  shall  go 

To  share  that  blessed  eternity, 

My  loved,  with  outstretched  hands,  will  smile,  I  know, 
And  welcome  me. 


MEMORIAL    POEMS.  165 


'j  DEAD,  YET  SPEAKETH." 

WITH  quiet  hands  and  sealed  lips 
Upon  the  bier  she  lay, 
Still  as  the  form  the  sculptor  moulds 
And  fashions  from  the  clay. 

Yet  not  a  score  of  years  had  left 
Their  touch  on  brow  or  cheek, 

No  furrows  worn  by  time  or  tears, 
Of  sorrows  seemed  to  speak. 

In  life's  glad  morning  she  had  heard 

The  summons  from  on  high: 
"  Come  up,  thine  earthly  work  is  done: 

Come  dwell  above  the  sky." 

And  death's  pale  angel  hovered  near 

Her  trembling  soul  to  guide, 
When  pain  had  loosed  the  silver  chord 

And  love's  sweet  bands  untied. 

With  patient  heart  and  perfect  trust 

In  Him  who  died  to  save, 
She  brightened  all  the  dreary  way 

Which  led  her  to  the  grave. 


1 66  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Pain  poured  for  her  the  bitter  cup, 
She  drank  it  with  a  smile. 

Which  told  of  hidden  peace  and  rest 
On  God's  strong  arm  the  while. 

Nor  did  her  faith  or  patience  tire 
By  long  night-watches  tried, 

While  closer  crept  the  icy  waves 
Of  Jordan's  swollen  tide. 

The  valley  dark,  no  shadow  cast, 
'Twas  lit  by  heavenly  love; 

From  sunshine  here  her  spirit  passed 
To  perfect  light  above. 

Does  not  the  brief,  but  earnest  life, 
The  peaceful,  happy  death. 

Say  to  the  listening  ear  more  sure 
Than  words  of  idle  breath: 

"  Live  for  that  life  which  lies  beyond, 
That  when  its  doors  swing  wide, 

God's  angels  good,  may  lead  thee  on, 
Where  love  and  joy  abide." 

Do  not  the  dead  lips  seem  to  say 

In  admonition  still: 
"  Be  faithful  to  life's  sacred  trust 

And  do  thy  Maker's  will." 


MEMORIAL   POEMS.  167 


OUR  BROTHERS. 

WHEN  Slavery's  oligarchy  reared 
Its  cruel  standard  high, 
And  Treason's  blood-red  banner  flamed 

Across  the  Southern  sky, 
And  war's  shrill  tocsin  rent  the  air 
And  filled  our  hearts  with  dread, 
Our  brothers  heard  the  trumpet  peal, 
Which  on  to  victory  led. 

In  peaceful  homes,  where  plenty  smiled, 

And  love  the  board  had  spread, 
They  heard  their  country's  call,  "  to  arms, 

And  forth  to  battle  sped. 
The  farmer  hastened  from  his  field, 

The  lover  from  his  bride, 
The  merchant  left  his  counting-house, 

The  boy  his  mother's  side. 

Through  toilsome  marches  day  by  day, 

By  long  night-watches  tried, 
In  camp,  in  prison,  on  the  field 

They  struggled  side  by  side. 
A  common  purpose  made  them  one, 

A  common  hope  they  shared, 
Resolved  their  country  to  sustain — 

For  any  fate  prepared. 


1 68  AUTUMN   LEAVES. 

Of  all  who  went,  but  few  returned, 

The  path  to  glory  led 
Through  seas  of  blood,  and  all  the  way 

Was  strewn  with  heaps  of  dead. 
Some  fell  in  battle,  some  in  camp 

By  grim  disease  were  slain, 
And  some  in  Southern  prison  pens 

Dragged  out  their  days  of  pain. 

But  not  in  vain  they  suffered,  fell, 

The  land  for  which  they  died, 
United,  free,  will  ever  be 

The  patriot's  joy  and  pride. 
In  the  great  camping-ground  of  all, 

Their  "  low,  green  tents  "  are  seen 
And  ours  the  holy  task  shall  be, 

To  keep  their  memory  green. 

Still  year  by  year  the  summons  comes 

To  join  that  silent  band, 
For  living  comrades,  here  and  there, 

Wide  scattered  o'er  the  land. 
For  living  comrades  who  still  share, 

Their  country's  hard  won  peace, 
As  maimed  and  battle  scarred,  they  wait 

Their  papers  of  release. 

> 

We  drop  a  tear,  as  one  by  one, 
Their  absence  me  deplore; 

We  know  the  ranks  will  soon  be  fulled 
Upon  the  other  shore. 


MEMORIAL   POEMS.  169 

We  know  that  other  hands  must  guard 

The  treasures  they  have  won, 
And  other  feet,  more  swift  and  strong, 

Their  country's  errands  run. 

Eternal  vigilance,  is  still 

The  price  of  liberty, 
And  they  who  guard  our  country's  weal 

Must  ever  watchful  be. 
For  ignorance,  anarchy  and  crime, 

Are  foes  which  lurk  within, 
And  shameless  vice  walks  hand  in  hand 

With  drunkenness  and  sin. 

That  nation  only  can  be  great, 

Whose  people  serve  the  Lord — 
The  firm  foundation  of  whose  faith 

Is  built  upon  His  Word. 
For  right  must  triumph  in  the  end, 

And  Truth  and  Virture  be 
The  bulwark  of  our  nation's  strength, 

The  safeguards  of  the  free. 


TEMPERANCE  POEMS. 


THE  MAELSTROM. 

FROM  the  rugged  coast  of  Norway, 
A  gallant  ship  sailed  forth, 
Full  rigged,  with  streaming  pennons, 
She  turned  her  prow  to  the  north. 
She  rounded  the  headland  safely, 

Swept  out  on  a  silver  tide — 
From  the  deck,  her  brave  commander 
Beheld  with  an  air  of  pride, 

How  fair  was  the  golden  morning, 

How  bright  was  the  shining  sea, 
No  storm-ripple  stirred  the  waters, 

No  whisper  of  danger  to  be — 
On  shore  were  the  green,  waving  forests, 

With  singing  birds,  busy  and  bright, 
And  the  glad,  blue  heavens  were  bending 

Over  all,  with  their  smiles  of  light. 

'Twas  a  joyous  bridal  party, 

Who  sailed,  that  summer  morn, 
And  their  songs,  and  shouts  of  laughter, 

From  deck  to  deck  were  borne. 
White  hands  a  farewell  waving 

To  answering  hands  on  shore, 
And  the  jest  and  music  blending 

In  the  merriest  uproar. 


174  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

They  sailed,  and  the  fresh  breeze  freshened, 

The  white  waves  tossed  their  spray 
Like  diamonds  in  the  sunshine, 

To  speed  them  on  their  way. 
While  the  dancing  feet  flew  gaily 

To  music's  happiest  spell, — 
O'er  the  heart  of  the  brave  commander 

A  sudden  terror  fell. 

"  How  strangely  the  water  ripples 

Around  the  vessel's  keel, 
What  means  this  hidden  currant, 

This  motion  which  I  feel  ? 
Port,  port  your  helm,"  he  shouted, 

"  Be  quick,  to  larboard  tack, 
Down  hard  your  helm,  for  Heaven's  sake 

The  ship  is  off  her  track!  " 

The  sailors  read  the  danger, 

And  flew  at  his  command, 
The  helmsman,  though  his  cheek  grew  white, 

Bore  down  with  heavy  hand. 
Well  might  the  captain  shudder, 

Well  might  they  tremble  all, 
For  the  ship  obeyed  no  rudder, 

Held  in  the  Maelstrom's  thrall. 

Drawn  in  those  outer  circles, 

Inexorable  as  fate, 
They  only  learned  their  danger 

When  knowledge  was  too  late. 


TEMPERANCE    POEMS.  175 

Ah!  me,  what  pen  can  picture 

The  terror  and  the  gloom, 
When  fell  upon  those  happy  hearts, 

The  certainty  of  doom! 

The  same  clear  sky  bent  o'er  them, 

So  pitilessly  blue, 
The  same  glad  birds  were  singing 

The  forest  arches  through. 
Their  own  bright  homes  lay  smiling, 

Along  the  landscape  fair, 
Its  peaceful  beauty  mocking 

Their  agonized  dispair. 

Round  and  still  round  they  hastened, 

Fast  and  yet  faster  flew, 
As  nearer  to  the  vortex's  mouth 

The  dizzying  circles  drew — 
Wild  prayers  for  pardoning  mercy, 

From  lips  unused  to  pray, 
And  tears  and  lamentation, 

Marked  all  the  fearful  way. 

At  last,  the  ship  plunged  madly — 

Her  creaking  masts  o'er  thrown, 
And  then  the  seething,  yawning  gulf 

Received  her  as  its  own. 
One  shriek  from  many  voices, 

Lost  in  the  whirlpool's  roar, 
A  hopeless  struggle  with  the  waves, 

A  plunge  and  all  was  o'er. 


176  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

I  saw  a  good  ship  sailing 

Upon  Time's  silvery  sea, 
Full-rigged  for  Life's  long  voyage, 

Hope's  pennons  streaming  free. 
Childhood's  and  Youth's  glad  morning 

Was  bright  with  birds  and  flowers, 
And  Joy  and  Mirth  went  dancing 

Through  all  those  sun-bright  hours. 

I  saw  this  gallant  vessel 

Speed  on  her  prosperous  way, 
Reason,  the  brave  commander, 

Rejoicing  with  the  gay — 
Will  held  the  rudder  lightly, 

But  saw  no  danger  near, 
And  steered  upon  the  crested  waves 

Without  a  thought  of  fear. 

I  saw  a  fearful  whirlpool, 

Whose  outer  circles  crept 
Unseen,  beneath  the  channel 

This  stately  vessel  swept. 
At  first,  so  slight  the  motion, 

It  seemed  like  Pleasure's  swell, 
But  from  the  opening  vortex  gleamed 

The  seething  fires  of  Hell. 

I  saw  the  good  ship  reeling 
And  tossing  on  this  tide — 

In  vain  the  captain  shouted, 
In  vain  the  helmsman  tried. 


TEMPERANCE    POEMS.  177 

Too  strong  for  such  weak  rudder, 

The  hastening  current  drew 
To  swift  and  sure  destruction, 

The  ship  and  all  her  crew. 

Friends  called  a  tender  warning, 

The  shore  was  still  in  view, 
And  Childhood's  peaceful  harbor 

From  whence  her  anchor  drew. 
But  on,  still  swifter  onward, 

Drawn  by  that  potent  spell, 
The  breeze  but  wafted  backward 

Hope's  bitterest  farewell. 

Through  ever-narrowing  circles 

Lured  to  its  final  goal, 
Till  from  the  blackened  depths  uprose 

The  cry  of  a  lost  soul! 
How  terrible  the  picture! 

Is  there  no  hand  to  save, 
No  bow  of  promise,  which  man  pays 

Across  a  Drunkard's  grave  ? 

Surely  as  draws  the  Maelstrom 

Within  its  fatal  snare, 
The  stately  vessel,  round  and  round 

To  meet  destruction  there, 
So  surely  does  Intemperance, 

Lure  with  its  poisoned  breath, 
The  noblest  intellects  of  earth, 

To  sin  and  shame  and  death. 


178  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Not  one,  but  many,  thousands, 

This  mighty  whirlpool  ends — 
Year  after  year  the  wrecks  go  down 

In  sight  of  home  and  friends. 
In  sound  of  warning  voices 

Which  call  along  the  shore, 
"  Beware  the  fatal  current, 

Beware  the  Maelstrom's  roar!  " 


THE  HIDDEN  SERPENT. 

WEARIED  and  thirsty,  from  the  chase, 
Once  rode  the  Persian  king, 
And  longed  for  a  refreshing  draught, 
From  out  some  mountain  spring; 
Beside  him  on  a  halberd  perched, 

His  well  trained  falcon  rode, 
And  through  the  long  and  tiresome  way 
The  dusty  dragoons  strode. 

What  was  it  trickling  down  the  cliff, 

And  sparkling  in  the  sun  ? 
The  precious  drops  of  liquid  light 

Were  gathered  one  by  one, 
And  when  the  golden  cup  was  filled, 

(Which  many  a  banquet  graced) 
The  monarch  lifted  with  a  smile, 

The  cooling  draught  to  taste. 


TEMPERANCE    POEMS.  179 

But  suddenly  the  falcon  stretched 

Her  dark  wings,  strong  and  wide, 
As  if  in  rude  unconsciousness, 

And  dashed  the  cup  aside. 
The  earth  absorbed  the  waters,  which 

The  Persian  monarch  craved, 
And  treasure  gained  for  kingly  lips, 

The  weeds  and  tall  grass  laved. 

Thrice  was  the  golden  goblet  filled, 

Though  slowly,  to  the  brim, 
And  dashed  aside,  ere  yet  the  king 

Had  touched  its  jewelled  rim. 
Then  blazed  his  anger  fiercely  forth 

And  with  a  cruel  blow, 
He  swore  revenge  by  all  the  gods, 

And  laid  the  falcon  low. 

The  henchman  climbed  the  rocky  cliff, 

In  haste  the  draught  to  bear, 
But  shrieked,  and  fled  in  horror  from 

The  sight  which  met  him  there, 
For  lo  !  a  monster  serpent  lay 

Coiled  in  the  crystal  well, 
Whose  poisonous  venom,  filled  with  death 

Each  sparkling  drop  which  fell. 

How  many,  like  the  Persian  king, 

Clasp  eagerly  the  cup 
Which  holds  a  poisonous  beverage, 

In  haste  to  drink  it  up; 


l8o  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

And  scorn  the  friendly  hand  which  strives 

To  dash  the  cup  aside, 
Or  turn  from  friendship's  kind  appeals, 

In  bitterness  and  pride; 

But  learn  by  sad  experience, 

How  like  an  adder's  sting, 
Or  like  a  serpent's  deadly  bite, 

Is  the  accursed  thing. 
Whoever  tastes,  will  drink  again, 

With  thirst  beyond  control, 
'Till  poiscned  by  the  liquid  fire, 

Are  body,  mind,  aud  sonl. 


THE  PITCHER-PLANT. 

BOYS,  do  you  know  where  a  curious  plant 
Called  the  pitcher-plant  is  found  ? 
Its  ball-shaped  flowers  of  a  dark  red  hue 

Are  seen  above  marshy  ground. 
On  long,  green  stems  these  singular  flowers 

Hang  nodding  to  and  fro, 
But  the  strangest  part  of  the  plant  is  seen 
In  the  broad,  green  leaves  below. 

In  the  shape  of  a  vase  or  pitcher  they  rise, 

On  the  top  is  a  well-formed  lid, 
And  down  in  the  depths  of  each  funnelled  cup 

Is  a  strong,  sweet  nectar  hid. 


TEMPERANCE   POEMS.  l8l 

On  sunshiny  days  they  are  opened  wide 

To  lure  the  unwary  flies, 

But  the  sides  of  the  chalice  are  lined  with  hairs, 
And  whoever  enters  dies. 

So  smooth  and  soft  is  the  downward  way, 

None  dream  of  imprisonment  near, 
Till  they  seek  to  return,  when  those  pendant  hairs 

As  bayonets  bristling  appear. 
But  bright  in  the  sunshine  it  nods  its  head, 

And  never  a  struggle  it  heeds, 
For  day  after  day  this  remorseless  plant 

On  the  life  of  its  victim  feeds. 

Is  there  not  a  stranger  and  sadder  sight, 

Whose  sign  on  our  pathway  is  flung, 
All  gilded  and  painted  in  colors  bright, 

A  snare  for  the  feet  of  the  young? 
The  drinking  saloon  has  an  open  poor, 

And  lures  with  its  poisonous  breath; 
Tobacco  and  beer  are  the  downward  way, 

And  the  end  is  a  drunkard's  death. 


1 82  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


LOST  LAMBS. 


"  /\  A  ^  lamb»  °h  w^ere  is  my  one  lost  lamb?" 
I  V  1     Said  a  mother-sheep,  one  night, 
"He  has  gone  astray, 
He  has  lost  his  way, 
And  my  heart  is  wild  with  fright. 


"  Has  he  wandered  off  on  the  mountain  lone, 
In  the  woods  to  starve  and  die? 
Is  he  spent  with  pain? 
I  have  called  in  vain, 
And  I  can  not  hear  his  cry. 


"  Have  the  wild  beasts  torn  him  limb  from  limb  ? 
Has  he  died  without  a  sign? 
I  am  all  alone, 
And  my  heart  makes  moan 
For  this  litle  lamb  of  mine. 


"  Oh  where  is  our  guardian,  tried  and  true, 
Who  watches  with  sleepless  eyes? 
In  the  twillight  dim, 
Has  the  wolf  met  him, 
And  captured  him  by  surprise?" 


TEMPERANCE    POEMS.  183 

Nay,  strong  and  fleet  were  the  gray  wolf's  feet, 
And  his  mouth  had  a  bloody  stain, 
With  the  watch  dog  near 
He  had  cause  to  fear, 
But  alas!  for  the  lamb  was  slain. 

"My  boy,  my  boy,"  said  a  mother  fond. 
"Oh,  where  is  my  boy,  my  pride? 
Temptations  meet 
On  the  crowded  street, 
And  their  doors  are  open  wide. 

"  They  will  lure  him  into  the  paths  of  sin, 
With  honeyed  words  they  greet, 

With  the  gilded  sign 

And  the  flowing  wine, 
They  haste  to  ensnare  his  feet! " 

O  guardians  of  the  public  weal, 
Who  tarry  through  greed  of  gain, 

Will  ye  longer  sleep, 

While  the  mothers  weep, 
And  the  precious  lambs  are  slain? 


184  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


THE  END  THEREOF  IS  DEATH. 

"I  WILL  have  wealth,"  said  a  robber  bold, 

1     "I  know  where  the  banker  stores  his  gold, 
And  the  key  to  his  strong  room  now  I  hold." 

He  wended  his  way  with  a  cautious  tread, 
Nor  wakened  the  sleeper  overhead; 
To  the  door  of  the  massive  vault  it  led. 

The  lock  was  intricate,  strong  and  rare, 
He  had  learned  its  secret  spring  with  care, 
For  he  was  a  trusted  servant  there. 

But  love  of  gold  and  the  greed  of  gain, 
Had  bound  his  soul  with  a  sordid  chain, 
Till  truth  and  honor  alike  were  slain. 

In  silence  parted  the  wall  of  stone, 
The  massive  door  was  open  thrown, 
And  the  robber  stood  within,  alone. 

What  wealth  of  treasure  greeted  his  sight, 
Of  gold  which  shone  with  a  yellow  light, 
And  many  a  diamond  flashing  bright. 

He  stooped  to  gather  the  precious  store, 
And  heeded  not  when  the  iron  door 
Swung  noiselessly  to  its  place  of  yore. 


TEMPERANCE    POEMS.  185 

He  sought  in  haste  to  gather  them  all, 

And  feared  lest  a  single  jewel  fall, 

And  sighed  that  his  basket  was  so  small. 

Then  turned,  with  his  treasure  to  depart, 
And  paused,  with  a  sudden,  fearful  start, 
And  a  sickening  terror  at  his  heart. 

For  he  was  a  prisoner,  safely  bound 

By  the  walls  of  stone,  which  girt  him  round, 

And  the  secret  spring  its  place  had  found. 

He  knew,  in  an  instant,  his  dreadful  doom, 
He  saw  how  the  sides  of  that  narrow  room, 
Had  encircled  him  in  a  living  tomb. 

In  his  purposed  flight  he  had  pondered  o'er 
The  days  which  would  intervene  before 
The  banker  would  open  the  iron  door. 

That  chance  of  safety  was  now  his  knell, 
He  knew  the  dead,  in  each  narrow  cell, 
Might  look  for  rescue  or  help  as  well. 

Why  dwell  on  the  horror  that  waited  there, 
The  frenzied  shriek,  or  the  dumb  despair, 
The  muttered  curse,  or  the  whispered  prayer? 

Enough,  that  only  a  corpse  was  found, 

With  gold  and  jewels  scattered  around, 

And  broken  and  crushed  on  the  dungeon  ground. 


1 86  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

"  I  will  have  pleasure,"  a  young  man  said, 

"  I  love  the  wine  when  it  sparkles  red, 

It  warms  my  heart  and  it  clears  my  head." 

He  knew  where  wisdom  her  treasures  stored. 
And  love  her  jewels  for  him  outpoured, 
He  thought  to  gather  the  precious  hoard. 

He  counted  on  learning,  and  length  of  days, 
On  fortune's  smiles,  and  the  meed  of  praise, 
And  worldly  honors  in  various  ways. 

But  gradually  round  him  chains  were  thrown, 
More  hopeless  than  any  walls  of  stone, 
And  the  links  were  forged  by  his  hand  alone. 

But  fold  on  fold,  and  around  and  around, 
Like  a  serpent's  dreadful  coil  it  wound, 
Till  he  was  a  prisoner  firmly  bound. 

The  end  was  terror,  and  pain,  and  woe, 
Aye,  such  as  the  drunkard  alone  may  know, 
Ere  he  slips  to  the  yawning  gulf  below. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

THE  stars  in  their  orbits  all  were  set, 
The  night  had  been  followed  by  day, 
And  earth,  from  the  wildest  chaos  sprung, 
In  its  gloomy  grandeur  lay. 

The  spirit  of  Beauty  lowly  bent 

Before  her  Creator's  throne, 
And  breathed  the  wish  of  her  loving  heart, 

In  a  supplicating  tone. 

"  Go,"  said  her  gracious  Lord,  "  I  give 

Full  power  to  thy  fairy  hand, 
On  earth,  or  sea,  or  air,  to  leave 

The  touch  of  thy  magic  wand." 

The  spirit  sped  on  her  wings  of  light, 
And  crossing  the  sun's  bright  ray, 

She  gave  a  gorgeous  gleam  of  gold 
To  the  mighty  monarch  of  day. 

Then  out  in  the  arching  sky,  she  hung 

A  veil  of  the  softest  blue, 
And  over  the  trees  and  herbs  she  flung 

Their  own  peculiar  hue. 


AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

She  stooped  to  paint,  'twas  a  task  of  love, 

Each  tiny  floweret's  cup, 
And  a  gem  of  dew,  like  a  radiant  pearl, 

In  its  petals  folded  up. 

Above  the  cataract's  awful  brow, 

She  bent  the  Iris  bow, 
And  snowy  foam,  and  a  sea-green  hue, 

She  gave  to  the  depths  below. 

And  over  the  ocean  lingered  long, 

To  color  its  thousand  waves; 
And  painted  the  lips  of  moaning  shells 

Half-hidden  in  coral  caves. 

A  veil  of  moss  on  the  brown  rock  threw, 
And  taught  the  mountain  stream 

To  wind,  like  a  thread  of  silvery  light, 
The  bare  wild  cliffs  between. 

Thus  sped  the  sprite  on  her  joyous  task, 

'Till  in  cave,  or  grot,  or  dell, 
No  place  on  the  whole  broad  earth  is  found, 

Where  the  beautiful  doth  not  dwell. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  STREAM. 

FROM  mountain  springs,  through  valleys  fair 
A  little  streamlet  ran, 
Where  flowery  banks  and  fields  of  green, 
Made  glad  the  heart  of  man. 

In  singing  mood  it  hurried  on, 

A  rover  wild  and  free, 
Impelled  by  force  of  strong  desire 

To  seek  the  distant  sea. 

Through  forests  dark,  by  waving  ferns, 

Its  devious  pathway  led, 
And  sad  winds  moaned  amid  the  pines, 

As  onward  still  it  sped. 

Grim  mountains  at  each  other  frowned 

O'er  rocks  of  granite  gray, 
But  through  the  defile  at  their  feet, 

The  streamlet  wound  its  way. 

Birds  dipped  their  golden  wings  within 

Its  waters  pure  and  bright, 
And  paused,  a  grateful  song  to  sing, 

Before  they  took  their  flight. 


192  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  wild  deer  of  the  wooded  hills, 
'Mid  crag-cliffs  brown  and  bare, 

Would  toss  their  antlered  heads,  in  haste 
The  cooling  draught  to  share. 

From  bubbling  springs  and  falling  showers, 
The  stream  still  gathered  strength, 

And  grown  a  river,  broad  and  deep, 
Men's  burdens  bore  at  length. 

A  mart  of  trade,  a  great  highway, 

The  river  soon  became; 
A  blessing  to  the  world  at  large, 

And  bore  an  honored  name. 

The  longing  of  the  mountain  stream 

Impelled  the  river  on, 
Till,  folded  in  the  ocean's  waves, 

Its  goal  at  last  was  won. 


OLD  AND  NEW. 

I  AM  not  dead,  I  can  not  die 
The  old  year  whispered  with  a  sigh — 
I  pause  to  write  a  deathless  name, 
Sometimes  with  joy,  sometimes  with  shama, 
Upon  the  waiting  scroll  of  fame, 
And  when  I  turn  again  to  you, 
Ye  look,  and  nod,  and  call  me  new. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  193 

Perchance  you  saw  me  as  I  passed 

Storm-girt  upon  the  Wintry  blast, 

Or  marked  me,  garlanded  with  flowers, 

While  resting  through  the  drowsy  hours, 

In  lovely  summer's  rosy  bowers. 

But  when  I  garnered  in  the  grain, 

Ye  watched  me,  with  a  thrill  of  pain. 

Ye  watched,  and  murmured  with  surprise, 
"Alas!  how  soon  the  Old  Year  dies! 
Why  will  he  never  longer  stay? 
Another  may  not  be  as  gay, 
Another  may  not  come  our  way, 
But  he  was  bright  and  full  of  cheer 
Why  does  he  hasten  to  his  bier  ?  " 

Kind  friends,  it  may  be  you  have  heard, 
Through  ancient  lore  of  fabled  bird, 
Which  from  its  ashes  gayly  springs, 
To  spread  anew,  exultant  wings, 
And  of  the  past  and  future  sings — 
So  I,  who  meet  you  with  new  face, 
Still  clasp  the  old  in  my  embrace. 

Another  name,  another  age, 
I  set  on  history's  open  page, 
Another  tablet  pure  and  white 
I  offer  you,  where  on  to  write 
Your  name  in  characters  of  light. 
But  Time  and  I  are  one,  and  we 
Shall  die  but  in  Eternity. 


194  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


SUNSET  AMONG  THE  HILLS. 

UPON  the  summit  of  a  rocky  hill  I  stood, 
Behind  me,  rose  a  dark,  impenetrable  wood, 
Around,  beneath,  in  sunset  splendor  lay 
The  varying  landscape,  stretching  far  away 
To  hills  of  purple  glory,  on  whose  top 
The  clouds  their  silken  fringes  seemed  to  drop; 
The  church-spire,  of  a  little  hamlet,  towered  afar, 
As  if  expectant,  waiting  for  the  evening  star 
To  mirror  in  its  polished  shaft,  her  smiling  face 
And  lend  to  crudest  art  a  welcome  touch  of  grace. 

Farm  houses  dotted,  here  and  there,  the  verdant  plain, 
And  corn  fields  yellow  with  the  harvest's  ripening  grain, 
And  orchards  bending  low  beneath  their  fruitful  load, 
Skirting  the  white  line  of  the  winding  sandy  road. 
Cattle  were  grazing  in  uncounted  meadow-lanes, 
Whose  verdure  had  been  freshened  by  the  recent  rains. 
Staid  oxen,  haply  ready  for  the  butcher's  stall. 
And  patient  kine  who  listened  for  the  milk-maid's  call. 
Some  drowsy  sheep  lay  stretched  along  a  sun-lit  hill, 
While  half-grown  lambs  were  busy  with  their  gambols 
still. 

The  forests,  touched  by  frost,  a  wealth  of  splendor  bore, 
Clad  in  the  gorgeous  dyes  the  summer  rainbows  wore, 
Mantles  enwrought  with  crimson,  gold  and  dun, 
And  every  intermediate  shade,  blended  in  one. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  195 

The  chestnut  trees  had  dropped  their  precious  burdens 

down, 

And  as  reward  for  toil,  each  wore  a  golden  crown. 
From  a  gnarled  oak,  whose  branches  made  safe  covert 

nigh, 

A  speckled  hawk  peered  at  me,  with  enquiring  eye, 
As  if  he  questioned  by  what  right  I  made  my  own 
The  sacred  solitude  which  girt  his  sylvan  throne. 

Far  to  the  South  the  dim  line  of  the  ocean  lay, 
Blent  with  the  sky,  as  hazy,  mystical  and  gray, 
While  shapeless  masts,  and  ship-like  clouds,  together 

seemed  to  ride 

Sometimes  along  the  sky,  and  sometimes  on  the  tide. 
Already  in  the  East,  the  moon  revealed  her  face, 
Pallid  and  ghost-like,  with  a  shadowy  tint  of  grace, 
But  in  the  West,  the  sun  still  ruled,  with  kingly  sway, 
Uuquestioned  Lord  of  Light,  and  Monarch  of  the  Day, 
Throned  on  his  fiery  car,  whose  brightness  over-cast, 
The  broad  arch    of  the  heavens    with  splendor  as  he 

passed. 

From  the  horizon  to  the  zenith,  fold  on  fold, 

Lay  the  great  crimson  clouds,  whose  borders,  touched 

with  gold, 

Sent  back  a  softened  radiance,  streaming  far  and  wide, 
And  to  the  dying  day,  a  lengthened  life  supplied. 
Slowly  down  dropped  the  sun  behind  the  Western  hill, 
Seeming  to  pause  a  moment,  peering  backward  still 
Above  the  hill-tops,  to  behold  with  wondering  eye, 
The  fading  glory,  of  his  track  along  the  sky, 


196  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Flashing  to  the  far  East,  one  swift-expiring  beam, 
Which  lighted  up  anew  each  valley,  rock  and  stream, 
Then  hid  his  face,  that  weary  sons  of  toil  might  rest, 
And  distant  lands  by  his  awakening  smile  be  blest. 

From  off  the  painted  sky  soon  faded,  one  by  one, 
The  ever-varying  dyes,  and  shapes,  wrought  by  the  sun, 
The  gold  grew  dim,  the  crimson  changed  to  gray, 
Form  after  form,  of  wondrous  beauty,  passed  away, 
And  soon  the  twilight  shadows  o'er  the  lancscape  fell, 
Veiling  the  mountains  brow,  hiding  the  mossy  dell, 
The  brief,  chill,  autumn  twilight,  passing  swiftly  by, 
For  moon  and  stars  to  light  again  the  evening  sky. 

And  even  thus,  I  thought,  the  good  man  sinks  to  rest, 
Like    suns  which    set  in  splendor,    leaving  earth  still 

blessed,  , 

Not  lost  in  gloom,  but  wrapped  in  glorious  light, 
And  leaving  far  behind,  a  path-way  pure  and  bright. 
A  life  whose  holy  influence  dies  not  with  the  day, 
A  memory  whose  radiance  fades  not  soon  away. 
And  even  thus  the  soul,  death  hides  from  mortal  sight, 
Dies  not,  but  like  the  sun,  still  treads  a  path  of  light, 
And  other  lands  grow  bright,  and  other  spirits  own 
The  sun  whose  warmth  and  light  we  have  so  fondly 

known. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  1 97 


SPRING-TIME. 

A  GLIMMER  of  wings  in  the  air, 
A  ripple  of  song  in  the  wood, 
A  flush  of  pink  on  the  orchard  bare, 
And  the  spring-time  sweet  and  good. 

Spring  with  its  violets  blue, 

Its  dandelions  of  gold, 
Its  daisies  in  ruffles  white  and  new, 

And  its  snow-drops  pure  and  cold. 

With  crocuses  yellow  and  gay, 
And  the  blood-root  pale  and  fair, 

And  ferns,  with  heads  all  frizzy  in  May, 
And  the  song-birds  everywhere. 

The  spring  with  its  fresh  delight, 

In  tears  and  in  laughter  now, 
But  stretching  hands  full  of  blossoms  bright, 

To  scatter  on  every  bough. 

This  life  has  its  spring-time  fair, 

Its  April  of  smiles  and  tears, 
Its  treasures  of  beauty  with  naught  of  care, 

And  joy  in  the  passing  years. 

The  spring  is  the  seed-sowing  time, 
The  farmer  must  scatter  the  grains, 

Adapting  his  seed  to  land  and  clime, 
And  planting  with  thought  and  pains. 


198  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Life's  seed-sowing  time  is  in  youth, 
Then  faithfully  plant  while  you  may, 

The  harvest  of  growing  error  or  truth, 
Be  sure  you  will  gather  some  day. 


KING  WINTER. 

AWAY  in  the  North,  lives  the  old  Winter  king, 
And  strange  though  it  seems  he  is  next  door  to 

Spring, 

His  palace  of  ice  is  most  fair  to  behold, 
And  gleams  in  the  sunlight  more  brilliant  then  gold. 

One  day  to  the  queen,  said  King  Winter,"  I  hear 
That  Autumn  is  late  about  moving,  this  year, 
I  wish  he  would  pack  up  his  trappings  and  go, 
The  children  I'm  sure  must  be  wishing  for  snow. 

4  'Tis  time  that  my  annual  journey  was  taken, 
And  all  the  dead  leaves  from  the  forests  were  shaken, 
'Tis  time  that  the  brook  and  the  stream  by  the  mill 
Should  hush  up  their  babbling  awhile  and  keep  still. 

14 1  have  sent  the  first  frosts,  by  lightning  expressed. 
My  blizzards  already  are  packed  for  the  West, 
I  have  in  my  satchel  a  North-wind  or  two, 
O'er  which  the  good  people  will  make  much  ado. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  199 

"  The  children  are  ready  with  mittens  and  sleds, 
And  warmest  of  caps  for  their  dear  little  heads, 
They  do  have  such  sport  when  I  cover  with  snow, 
The  hill  from  its  top  to  the  valley  below. 

"  I  know  the  old  people  will  shiver  and  shake, 
And  say  that  one-half  of  their  comfort  I  take, 
But  children  will  never  grow  rosy  and  strong, 
If  I  keep  my  good  breezes  away  from  them  long. 

"  So  I  must  be  off,  in  a  hurry,  my  dear, 
For  Christmas  is  waiting  for  me  with  New- Year, 
They're  merry  companions,  we'll  travel  together, 
And  care  not  a  fig  for  the  coldest  of  weather," 


THE  MISSING  GUY. 

HOW  tall  and  straight  the  smoke-stack  rose 
A  hundred  feet  in  air, 
Upreared  with  anxious  thought  by  those 

Who  fashioned  it  with  care. 
More  slowly  now,  almost  in  place — 

The  tall  top  bends  and  sways — 
With  bated  breath  the  strain  we  trace 
Along  the  lengthend  stays. 

Another  inch  and  firmly  held, 

The  shaft  for  years  will  stand. 

By  wind  and  storm  in  vain  repelled, 
A  land-mark  in  the  land. 


2OO  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

But  see,  it  topples,  it  will  fall, 

The  bottom  guy  is  where  ? 

A  little  strength,  a  child's,  quite  small, 
Might  save,  expended  there. 

Alas!   the  rope  was  missing  there — 

A  moment  still  and  slow 
Like  a  long  pendulum  hung  in  air, 

The  shaft  swung  to  and  fro; 
Then  with  a  heavy  crash,  it  fell 

A  shattered,  ruined  mass, 
And  crushed  and  broken  fragments  tell 

Of  ruin  where  it  passed. 

Have  you  not  seen  a  shapely  life 

Rise  stately,  tall,  and  fair, 
With  intellectual  grandeur  rife, 

And  fashioned  well  with  care  ? 
Almost  in  place,  it  seems  to  be, 

We  scarcely  mark  it  swing, 
Till  suddenly,  instead,  we  see 

A  wrecked  and  ruined  thing. 

In  searching  for  the  cause  of  all, 

The  missing  guy  we  trace  ! 
A  single  cord  had  saved  the  fall, 

If  fastened  at  the  base. 
Anchored  to  Christ,  the  cord  of  love 

Had  held  through  trial's  strain, 
Temptation  sought  in  vain  to  move, 

Or  sin  the  soul  to  stain. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  2OI 


THE  MAGDALEN. 

"  Behold  I  stand  at  the  door  and  knock." 

'  'THVAS  a  woman  young  and  fair 

1       Peering  through  the  lattice  oft 
At  the  busy  thoroughfare. 

She  was  robed  in  raiment  soft ; 
There  were  jewels  in  her  hair. 

But  a  look  of  guilt  and  pain 

Shone  from  out  the  bold,  dark  eyes, 
You  could  read  the  sin  and  stain 

Through  the  glittering  disguise, 
Wealth  had  spread  for  her  in  vain. 

In  her  pure  and  happy  home, 

'Mid  the  granite  hills  afar, 

E'er  her  feet  had  learned  to  roam, 
Shone  her  beauty  like  a  star. 

Ah!  why  did  the  tempter  come? 

But  amid  the  crowd  that  day, 

Who  swept  past  her  gilded  cage, 

Came  a  form  more  bowed  and  gray 

With  heart-sorrow  than  with  age. 

Was  it  chance  that  led  that  way  ? 


2O2  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Nay,  for  at  the  door  he  stood 

Knocking  long,  and  knocking  loud  : 
Not  like  beggar  seeking  food 

Seemed  his  form  amid  the  crowd, 
Looked  his  face  so  pure  and  good. 

And  her  cheeks  grew  white  with  pain, 

As  she  watched  him  with  surprise, 

And  a  sudden  dash  of  rain 

Dimmed  the  brightness  of  her  eyes — 

But  the  knocker  knocked  in  vain. 


And  again,  and  yet  again, 

Through  the  long  and  weary  day, 
'  Mid  the  jostling  crowd  of  men, 

Came  the  patient  one  that  way, 
Though  he  knew  the  noisome  den. 


He  had  traced  his  lost  one  there, 

And  he  hoped  to  see  her  face, 

While  he  thought  his  pleading  prayer 

Might  yet  win  her  from  the  place, 

But  he  only  found  despair. 

And  his  bitter  grief  she  read, 

As  she  watched  him,  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  she  bowed  in  shame  her  head; 

But  she  would  not  ope  the  door, 
"I  have  chosen  this  "  she  said. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  2O3 

But  through  all  the  livelong  day 

Knocked  another  at  her  heart, 
While  she  would  not  bid  him  stay 

Still  reluctant  to  depart, 
Though  she  whispered,  "go  thy  way." 

When  the  midnight  shadows  spread, 

She  yet  heard  his  still,  small  voice, 

As  she  tossed  upon  her  bed, 

"I  have  made  a  wretched  choice," 

In  her  bitterness  she  said. 

"To  my  father's  house,  once  more, 

Let  me  haste  to  rise  and  go, 
On  my  mother's  bosom  pour 

All  my  guilt  and  shame  and  woe, 
While  there  waits  an  open  door." 

Through  the  darkness  which  had  been, 

Shone  the  light  of  dawning  day, 
From  the  heart  all  stained  with  sin, 

Fell  the  bars  and  bolts  away, 
And  the  Crowned  One  stood  within. 


2O4  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


MEMORIES. 

LET  me  think  of  pleasant  fields  to-night, 
Where  my  feet  in  childhood  strayed, 
Of  the  low,  green  hills,  with  daisies  white, 
Where  a  band  of  children  played. 

Of  the  shallow  brook  which  murmured  low, 
And  its  waters  pure  and  sweet, 

Where  we  drank  from  leafy  cups  of  green, 
Or  we  splashed  with  bare  brown  feet. 

Of  the  quaint  old  barn,  with  cosy  nooks, 
And  its  odorous  new-mown  hay, 

Where  we  used  to  climb  the  ladders  tall, 
And  at  hide  and  seek,  to  play. 

Of  the  shady  woods,  so  cool,  near  by, 
And  the  berries  red  and  sweet, 

Of  the  wintergreen  we  used  to  pick, 

With  the  beech-nuts  'neath  our  feet. 

Of  the  luscious  draughts  of  sweet  we  sipped, 

In  the  merry,  sugaring  time, 
When  the  maples  rang  with  laughter  peals, 

Like  a  great  bell's  joyous  chime. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  205 

For  we  could  not  guess  in  those  bright  years, 

Of  the  changes  time  would  bring, 
To  the  unfledged  birds,  in  that  home  nest, 

Beneath  love's  sheltering  wing. 

We  are  scattered  all,  we  wandered  far 

Away  from  those  hills  of  green, 
And  the  finger-marks  of  time  and  care, 

Upon  every  brow  are  seen. 

But  some  sleep  near,  where  moonlight  soft 

Its  silvery  mantle  spreads, 
And  the  daisies  white  and  butter-cups, 

Are  nodding  above  their  heads. 

And  although  we  tarry  a  little  while, 

Wherever  our  feet  may  roam, 
We  know,  that  the  paths  in  which  we  walk, 

Will  certainly  lead  us  home. 


206  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


GRATITUDE. 

IN  a  home  of  wealth  and  beauty 
Where  the  golden  sunlight  strayed 
Through  the  heavy  silken  curtains, 
Over  frescoed  walls,  and  played 
On  the  forms  of  marble  whiteness, 

Which  the  sculptor's  hand  had  wrought, 
And  illumined  rarest  paintings, 

From  most  ancient  cities  brought — 

'Mid  the  softness  and  the  splendor, 

Of  those  wondrous  works  of  art, 
Sat  the  fair  and  gifted  owner, 

With  a  discontented  heart. 
She  had  love  and  youth  and  beauty, 

Troops  of  friends  on  every  side, 
But  her  snowy  brow  was  clouded, 

For  some  fancied  bliss  denied. 

Should  the  song  bird  she  hid  chosen, 

To  another  nest  have  flown  ? 
Should  the  jewel  she  might  covet, 

On  another's  breast  have  shone  ? 
Should  there  aught  but  good  be  gathered 

In  that  rich  and  ample  fold, 
Where  were  genius,  culture,  station, 

Blent  with  fashion,  wit  and  gold  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  2O7 

From  her  heart  no  prayer  ascended, 

From  her  lips  no  song  of  praise, 
For  the  blessings  round  her  clustered, 

For  the  brightness  of  her  days  ! 
Though  her  cup  ran  o'er  with  mercies, 

And  her  life  was  free  from  care, 
It  had  no  room  for  thankfulness, 

And  gratitude  no  share. 

In  a  low  and  dingy  cabin, 

With  its  bare,  unpainted  walls, 
Through  whose  narrow,  broken  windows 

The  Autumn  sunlight  falls — 
Sits  a  feeble,  lonely  widow, 

Who  is  poor  and  old  and  blind, 
Sometimes  ill  and  sometimes  hungry, 

Oft  neglected  by  her  kind. 

Day  by  day  goes  by  in  darkness, 

Night  by  night  comes  on  alone, 
Saving  only  for  His  presence, 

Who  yet  hears  the  feeblest  moan, 
Of  the  humblest  of  his  creatures, 

And  in  tender  love  draws  near, 
Dispelling  by  his  brightness 

All  the  loneliness  and  fear. 

Is  there  room  for  thoughts  of  mercies, 

Is  there  place  for  words  of  praise, 
In  a  life  which  seems  so  barren  ? 

"  God  is  good  to  me,"  she  says, 


208  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

"  Every  day  he  feeds  and  clothes  me, 
And  his  faithful  care  displays 

Through  his  ministering  servants, 
In  a  thousand  kindly  ways, 

"  All  these  years,  his  hand  has  led  me, 

And  the  blessed  peace  I  share 
Through  the  brightness  or  the  darkness, 

Helps  me  all  my  burdens  bear  ; 
Though  I  know  not,  what  the  future 

Hath  reserved  for  me  so  late, 
Still  I  know,  God  will  not  fail  me, 

I  can  trust  him  while  I  wait." 

Thus  it  is  not  wealth  or  station, 

Not  the  things  we  have  and  hold, 
Which  makes  the  germ  of  gratitude, 

To  perfect  flower  unfold. 
But  the  heart  that  sees  the  giver, 

In  the  bounties  of  his  love, 
And  knows  that  'mid  all  changes, 

His  mercies  changeless  prove. 


T 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  2 09 


HENRY  OF  NAVARRE. 

HUS  wise  and  brave  was  Henry  of  Navarre, 
Who  led  the  Protestants  in  holy  war. 
Hailing  the  troops  who  fled 
Appalled  before  the  dead, 
Which  blocked  their  onward  way, 
At  Ivry,  one  sad  day. 


"  Nay,  brothers,  nay,  ye  need  not  fight,"  he  said, 
"  But  each  one  toward  the  battle  turn  his  head. 

And  linger  ere  ye  fly 

Until  ye  see  me  die." 

Then  swiftly  far  ahead 

His  white  plume  glancing  led. 

Thrilled  with  a  quick,  responsive  sympathy, 
The  brave  men  followed,  ready  each  to  die, 

The  lost  field  soon  was  won, 

And  ere  the  setting  sun, 

Triumphant  rang  the  cry, 

Of  "  France  and  victory." 


2IO  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


THE  EMPTY  NEST. 

FAR  from  the  noisy  village  street 
Within  the  green  wood's  cool  retreat, 
Where  stately  trees  their  branches  spread, 
To  weave  a  canopy  o'erhead, 
And  trailing  vines  and  mosses  hung, 
By  idle  zephyrs  gently  swung, 
And  all  the  air  betokened  rest, 
A  shy  bird  built  her  quiet  nest. 

But  not  alone,  for  with  her  flew 
Her  faithful  mate  so  fond  and  true, 
And  in  and  out  with  nicest  care 
They  wove  the  tiny  strands  of  hair, 
With  slender  grasses,  reeds  and  straw 
And  lined  the  whole  without  a  flaw, 
A  home  for  sweet  content  it  seemed, 
Of  home-like  happiness  they  dreamed. 

And  soon  beneath  the  downy  breast, 
Four  fragile  eggs  were  gently  pressed, 
And  watched  and  guarded  night  and  day, 
And  warmed  and  brooded  o'er  alway. 
And  day  by  day  the  wonder  grew, 
The  waxen,  mottled  spheres  of  blue, 
Were  filled  with  vague  and  strange  unr»st, 
For  life  was  hovering  o'er  the  nest. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  211 

A  murmur  of  imprisoned  things, 

The  quivering  of  unseen  wings, 

And  lo!  the  palaces  so  fair 

Lay  crushed,  four  gaping  mouths  were  there, 

Oh!  then  with  swift  and  joyous  wing, 

From  far  and  near  the  food  they  bring, 

And  flutter  o'er  the  birdlings  there, 

With  eager,  fond,  parental  care. 

Was  it  some  woodman's  axe  which  brought 
Destruction  to  the  home  unsought  ? 
Some  careless  hunter's  idle  shot 
Which  reached  that  fair,  sequestered  spot  ? 
Some  boy  on  cruel  mischief  bent  ? 
Some  prowling  beast  with  foul  intent  ? 
It  boots  not,  since  the  mother  found 
Her  callow  brood,  dead  on  the  ground. 

Poor  mother  bird!  thy  little  breast 

Hath  room  for  that  unwelcome  guest, 

Who  finds  a  place  in  hut  and  hall 

And  brings  a  bitter  cup  to  all. 

Hast  thou  no  dream  of  coming  spring 

Wherewith  to  soothe  thy  sorrowing? 

No  resurrection  morning  when 

Thy  loved  ones  thou  shall  meet  again  ? 

God  pity  those  who  everywhere 
A  load  of  hopeless  sorrow  bear, 
Who  look  not  through  the  prison  bars 
To  life  and  love  beyond  the  stars. 


212  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

For  such,  the  only  boon  to  bless, 
Must  be  a  bird's  forgetfulness, 
Who  plucks  the  feathers  from  her  breast 
To  build  anew  the  ruined  nest. 


WIND  FLOWERS. 

ON  wide,  far- stretching  plains, 
Where  Cacti  most  abound, 
A  species  singular  and  rare, 

Of  this  strange  plant  is  found. 

When  winds  are  hushed  and  still, 
And  skies  serenely  fair, 

The  bristling,  scraggy  objects  stand, 
Devoid  of  grace  and  bare. 

Their  leaves  are  pale  and  gray, 

Set  round  by  thorny  spears, 

Nor  hint  of  hidden  bud  or  bloom, 
Along  their  stalks  appears. 

But  when  a  rude  gale  shakes 

The  plants,  with  fury  bold, 

From  waiting,  undiscovered  buds, 
A  thousand  flowers  unfold. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  213 

Large,  creamy  white,  and  pure, 

Waked  by  the  tempest's  breath, 

They  flutter  while  the  strong  wind  blows, 
Then  sleep  in  seeming  death. 

And  there  are  human  lives, 

As  bare  and  blossomless, 
Sunned  by  prosperity  and  peace, 

Hedged  round  by  selfishness. 

They  wait  for  sorrows  touch, 

Their  stubborn  hearts  to  move, 

For  strong  winds  of  adversity, 
To  open  flowers  of  love. 


JOSEPH'S  TOMB. 

IN  the  fertile  valley  of  Shechem, 
Where  Ebal's  shadow  falls, 
And  Gerizim  (mount  of  blessing) 

Looks  down  o'er  rocky  walls. 
Hemmed  in  by  the  cloud-capped  mountains, 

'Neath  ever  changing  skies, 
Alone  in  the  valley  of  beauty 
The  tomb  of  Joseph  lies. 

He  fell  in  the  land  of  Egypt, 

And  centuries  passed  by, 
While  in  faith  his  bones  were  resting 

Beneath  that  alien  sky. 


214  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

He  said,  "  Ye  shall  surely  bear  me 

Out  to  that  goodly  land 
Which  was  promised  to  our  fathers — 

Led  by  God's  mighty  hand." 

But  the  freighted  years  rolled  onward, 

And  through  their  music  crept 
The  bitterest  plaint  of  sorrow, 

The  voice  of  them  that  wept. 
For  "the  new  king  knew  not  Joseph," 

Nor  the  people  whom  he  fed, 
And  through  cruel  persecutions 

Their  path  to  freedom  led. 

In  the  hurry  of  swift  departure, 

And  through  their  devious  way, 
Over  sea  or  the  trackless  desert, 

They  bore  the  coffined  clay. 
Till  they  reached  the  land  of  promise, 

With  fertile  fields  of  green, 
Where  they  made  in  that  lonely  valley 

The  grave  which  faith  had  seen. 

We,  too,  have  a  land  of  promise, 

A  land  so  fair  and  bright, 
In  visions  of  wondrous  beauty 

It  flashes  on  our  sight. 
And  ever,  as  on  we  journey, 

Faith  points  that  heavenly  way, 
Where  death  and  its  gloomy  shadows 

Are  lost  in  endless  day. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  215 


THE  OLD  CANNON. 

LOW  down  among  the  reeds  and  rushes, 
Hidden  half  by  weeds  and  bushes, 
Grim  relic  of  a  bitter  day — 
A  day,  when  neath  the  shot  and  shell, 
The  soldiers  like  the  mown  grass  fell — 
An  old  deserted  cannon  lay. 

A  cannon,  which,  in  time  of  war, 
Had  sniffed  the  battle  from  afar, 

And  foremost  in  the  dreadful  fray, 
Its  volleys  poured,  of  flame  and  death, 
While  heroes  yielded  up  their  breath, 

Throughout  that  long  and  painful  day. 

* 

But  in  the  marshes  stranded  fast, 
Wrecked,  and  abandoned  there  at  last, 

For  long  years  rusting  it  had  stood, 
While  winds  of  summer  round  it  blew, 
And  bending  branches  o'er  it  threw 

The  dancing  shadows  of  the  wood. 

At  length,  one  sunny  morn  in  May, 
A  pair  of  thrushes  passed  that  way, 

In  search  of  some  sequestered  spot, 
Wherein  to  build  their  downy  nest, 
And,  of  its  narrow  walls  possessed, 

To  be  by  ruder  birds  forgot. 


2l6  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

How  silent  seemed  the  sylvan  shade, 
Where  gleams  of  sunshine  softly  strayed, 

How  peaceful  looked  the  ruin  there, 
Fit  place  to  build  a  home  of  love, 
Abode  for  e'en  the  gentle  dove, 

So  thought  and  wrought  the  happy  pair. 

And  thus,  from  out  the  jaws  of  death, 
Awoke  at  last,  life-giving  breath, 

And  sweetest  songs  of  praise  and  joy, 
Foreshadowing  that  time  of  peace, 
When  war  shall  cease,  and  love  increase, 

And  men  no  more  God's  gift  destroy. 

And  often  from  the  ponderous  wheel, 
The  thrush  poured  forth  his  joyous  peal, 

Resounding  through  the  leafy  glen, 
In  melody  like  that  which  stirred 
The  ancient  shepherds,  as  they  heard 

The  song  of  "Peace,  good-will  to  men." 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  217 


THE  PRAYER-MEETING. 


THE  snow  lay  white  on  wooded  hill, 
And  white  on  valleys  low, 
In  silence  slept  the  frozen  rill, 
Whose  waters  fed  the  fulling  mill 
In  summers  long  ago. 


But  from  the  old  church  belfry  tower 

A  chime  rang  bravely  out, 
To  tell  of  an  appointed  hour 
Of  worship,  and  to  rouse  with  power 
The  people  far  about. 


Peal  upon  peal,  and  clang  on  clang, 

Out  on  the  frosty  air 
The  brazen  tongue  its  message  sang, 
And  through  the  leafless  branches  rang 

The  welcome  call  to  prayer. 


From  near  and  far  they  gathered  fast, 

O'er  fields  of  trackless  white, 
Unmindful  of  the  biting  blast, 
Or  feathery  snow-flakes  hurrying  past, 
Like  swallows  in  their  flight, 


2l8  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Through  winter's  cold  or  summer's  heat, 

Alike,  they  heard  the  bell, 
And  thither  came  with  willing  feet, 
The  "old,  old  story,"  to  repeat 

And  God's  great  love  to  tell. 


Warm  hearts  and  earnest  souls  had  they, 

That  rugged  path  who  trod, 
And  little  children  left  their  play 
To  hear  their  fathers  praise  and  pray, 
And  learn  through  them  of  God. 

Young  men  and  maids  found  there  the  way, 

Regardless  of  the  weather, 
So  mixed  life's  motives,  who  shall  say 
If  love  of  God,  or  man,  held  sway, 
The  homeward  path  together. 

That  life,  at  least,  is  well  begun, 

Commenced  in  wisdom's  ways. 
Continued  thus,  till  set  of  sun, 
The  Master's  plaudit  of  "well  done" 
Will  crown  its  closing  days. 

The  plain  old  church  has  passed  away; 

A  grander  one  is  there, 
With  gilded  spire  and  windows  gay, 
And  furniture  in  bright  array; 

Whose  bell  still  calls  to  prayer 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  219 

And  young  and  old  together  meet, 

Triumphant  songs  to  raise. 
And  still,  in  conversation  sweet, 
The  "  old,  old  story"  they  repeat, 

And  give  to  God  the  praise. 


THE  SNOWBIRD. 

A  WILD  storm  of  winter  swept  over  the  land, 
The  North  Wind  laughed  loud  in  his  glee, 
And  he  tossed  the  snow-drifts  like  billows  of  sand 
Cast  up  by  the  tempest-wrought  sea. 

He  shook  the  tall  trees  of  the  forest,  which  stood 
With  their  branches  all  leafless  and  cold, 

And  twisted  and  rent  the  frail  saplings  of  wood, 
With  the  oaks  of  a  century  old. 

As  I  watched  from  my  window,  all  sheltered  and  warm, 

The  drifts  which  went  hurrying  by, 
A  poor  little  snowbird,  half  dead  in  the  storm, 

Attracted  my  wandering  eye. 

So  beaten  about  by  the  pitiless  blast, 

So  helpless  and  chilled  was  the  bird, 
With  feathers  all  rumpled,  and  spirits  downcast, 

My  heart  was  with  sympathy  stirred. 


22O  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

I  saw  how  he  sought  for  some  remnant  of  food, 

As  he  paused  on  the  desolate  plain, 
Where  dry,  blackened  stalks  of  the  past  summer's  weeds 

Gave  faint  promise  of  gathering  grain. 

But  no  morsel  of  seed,  to  reward  him  at  last, 
To  the  dry,  scentless,  herbage  could  cling, 

And  the  storm,  on  swift  pinions,  swooped  down  as  it 

passed, 
And  bore  him  aloft  on  its  wing. 

Where,  whirled  for  a  moment,  he  hung  in  mid-air, 

Benumbed  by  the  hunger  and  cold, 
Then  dropped  on  my  casement,  all  helpless  to  bear 

Still  longer  his  trials  untold. 

Then  I  opened  my  window  with  welcoming  hand, 

And  drew  the  poor  wanderer  home 
To  a  snug  little  basket,  so  warm,  on  my  stand, 

To  wait  till  the  sunshine  should  come. 

There  the  warmth  and  the  shelter,  the  rest  and  the  food 
Soon  brightened  the  storm-beaten  bird, 

And  I  fancied,  he  strove  to  give  thanks  for  the  good, 
In  the  faint,  little  chirpings  I  heard. 

And  I  thought  of  the  Father,  whose  pitying  love, 
The  fall  of  the  sparrow  doth  heed — 

With  tender  compassion  he  hears  from  above 
The  cry  of  each  soul  in  its  need. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  221 

I  thought  of  the  arms  of  his  mercy,  wherein 

The  tempest-tossed  spirit  may  hide, 
Of  the  dear,  loving  Savior,  the  refuge  from  sin, 

Where  comfort  and  safety  abide. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  PET. 

WE  have  a  little  favorite 
The  sweetest  of  all  things, 
Should  you  see  her,  you  might  call  her 

'A  cherub  without  wings, 
Or  a  fairy,  bird,  or  blossom, 

You  may  call  her  what  you  will, 
For  to  each  she  bears  resemblance, 
But  herself  is  better  still. 

Her  hair  is  soft  and  golden, 

As  the  petals  of  a  flower, 
Her  eyes  like  blue  forget-me-nots, 

In  summer's  brightest  hour. 
Her  voice  is  low  and  joyous 

As  the  carol  of  a  bird, 
Her  step,  like  rustling  blossoms 

By  evening  zephyrs  stirred. 

Her  motions  are  the  fairy's, 

So  full  of  witching  grace, 

And  you  read  her  guileless  nature 
In  the  sunshine  of  her  face. 


222  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 


A  pretty  April  blossom, 

A  bright  bird  of  the  wild, 
A  fairy  or  a  cherub, 

She  yet  is  but  a  child. 

And  she  plays  the  "  Grandma  "  nicely 

With  her  dolly  by  the  fire  ; 
Is  the  idol  of  her  aunties 

And  the  treasure  of  her  sire — 
And  she  knits  and  sews  demurely 

As  any  olden  dame, 
Or  at  least,  pretends  to  do  it, 

Which  is  very  much  the  same. 

You  should  see  our  little  baby, 

In  her  robe  of  snowy  white, 
As  she  steals  about  on  tip-toe, 

To  kiss  us  all  good-night. 
Should  see  her  clasp  her  dimpled  hands 

Beside  her  little  chair, 
And  with  tongue  which  falters  often, 

Lisp  out  her  evening  prayer. 

You  should  see — but  I'd  forgotten 

It  is  only  "  our  sweet  pet," 
To  others,  but  a  common  child 

To  glance  at,  and  forget. 
A  child,  a  free,  glad-hearted  child 

Has  earth  a  thing  more  fair  ? 
Holds  heaven  a  richer  treasure 

Than  the  bright  ones  gathered  there  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  223 


THE  BELL  OF  JUSTICE. 

IN  an  old  Italian  city, 
In  the  grand  square  once  was  hung, 
Without  steeple,  tower,  or  belfry 
To  impede  its  brazen  tongue — 
A  great  bell,  whose  noisy  clanging 

Could  be  heard  from  far  and  wide, 
As  it  echoed  through  the  valleys 
And  along  the  mountain  side. 

It  was  called  the  Bell  of  Justice, 

For  the  grand  old  judge  had  said, 
"  Let  it  swing  where  all  the  people 

Can  behold  it  overhead; 
Are  there  any  wrongs  unrighted, 

Aught  of  justice  in  demand, 
Let  the  old  bell  tell  the  story, 

Let  it  sound  it  through  the  land. 

"  Let  the  great  bell  tell  the  story, 

If  the  poor  have  been  oppressed, 
If  the  greed  of  men,  or  malice, 

Any  helpless  have  distressed, 
I  will  hasten  at  its  summons 

All  your  burdens  to  make  light; 
And  the  rouges  shall  all  be  punished, 

And  the  wrongs  shall  be  made  right." 


224  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

So  the  bell  its  summons  sounded 

And  the  years  flew  on  apace, 
And  the  ends  of  justice  failed  not 

In  that  law-abiding  place. 
And  the  rope  grew  worn  and  broken 

Swinging  idly  in  the  wind, 
And  at  last  a  thrifty  grapevine 

With  its  strands  were  intertwined. 

Then  one  day  the  judge  was  startled, 

Such  a  sharp  appeal  to  hear, 
Clang  on  clang,  the  old  bell  sounded 

Out  its  message  loud  and  clear. 
And  the  judge  assumed  his  ermine 

With  his  retinue  of  state, 
And  went  forth  to  meet  complainants 

Who  might  for  his  presence  wait. 

But  he  saw  not  man  nor  woman 

In  the  great  square,  far  or  near, 
Nor  the  voice  of  those  who  wrangled 

Nor  lamented,  smote  his  ear; 
But  a  horse,  both  old  and  hungry, — 

Scarred  by  many  a  cruel  blow, 
Feeding  meekly  on  the  grapevine, 

Swung  the  old  bell  to  and  fro. 

When  the  judge  beheld  the  creature, 
With  a  grave,  judicial  air, 

As  a  minister  of  justice, 

He  this  sentence  did  declare: — 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  225 

"Thus  the  court  decrees, — Your  owner 

Shall,  from  this  time  onward,  feed 
And  shelter  you  in  kindness, 

According  to  your  need. 

"  And  the  cruelty  which  will  not 

For  such  faithful  servant  care, 
Shall  be  punished  with  imprisonment, 

And  stripes  a  liberal  share." 
Then  the  herald,  with  his  trumpet, 

Blew  a  long,  triumphant  blast, 
And  the  judge  and  his  attendants 

From  the  Court  of  Justice  passed. 


THE  KING'S  REPLY. 

THE  English  monarch,  George  the  Fourth, 
Was  riding  out  one  day, 
In  Windsor  Park,  with  prancing  steeds 

And  carriage  bright  and  gay. 
He  met  a  coarse  and  blustering  man, 

Who  thought  it  very  wise 

To  flaunt  his  scorn  of  royalty, 

Before  the  monarch's  eyes. 

"Uncover,  'tis  the  King  we  meet," 

Said  one  who  rode  anear, 
"  Your  disrespect  will  be  construed 

As  anarchy,  I  fear." 


226  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  fellow  answered  with  an  oath 

We  would  not  dare  repeat, 
"  I'll  not  take  off  my  hat  to  him, 

Or  any  king  I  meet." 

The  King,  who  heard  the  rude  remarks, 

Replied,  with  gracious  smile, 
And  bowed  with  stately  courtesy 

And  lifted  hat,  the  while. 
"  I  to  my  meanest  subject  would 

This  much  of  honor  give, 
And  pray  that  long  and  happily 

The  gentleman  may  live." 

The  King  passed  on,  the  subject  paused, 

Surprised  to  thoughtfulness — 
Was  he  indeed  the  gentleman 

Who  practiced  gentleness  ? 
Would  courtesy  and  kindliness 

As  truly  honor  bring. 
And  dignify  the  humblest  man 

As  though  he  were  a  King  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  22J 


THE  ROMAN  MOTHER  AND  CHILD. 

INTO  the  great  Cathedral  stole, 
To  pray  for  peace  to  her  husband's  soul, 
A  Roman  matron  fair  and  mild, 
And  in  her  arms  she  bore  their  child. 

The  huge,  bronze  statue  of  the  great 
St.  Peter  sat  enthroned  in  state, 
Still  gravely  offering  one  toe 
For  kisses  from  the  throng  below. 

The  Roman  mother  lowly  bowed 
Amid  the  sanctimonious  crowd, 
And  pressed  her  lips  with  fervent  zeal, 
Which  good  St.  Peter  well  might  feel. 

Then  softly  bent  the  golden  head, 
"  Kiss  it,  Petruchio,"  she  said, 
"  The  good  St.  Peter  ne'er  will  bless, 
If  we  neglect  this  kind  caress." 

The  youthful  Roman  tossed  his  curls, 
And  glancing  toward  the  baby  girls, 
But  touched  the  bronze,  as  if  to  say, 
11  'Tis  only  that  I  must  obey." 

Then  with  a  sudden,  joyous  shout, 
He  flung  his  little  arms  about 
A  living  cherub  by  his  side, 
Who  to  escape  him,  vainly  tried; 


228  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

And  kisses  pressed,  a  perfect  storm, 
Upon  her  cheek  so  soft  and  warm, 
In  token  of  his  loving  heart, 
And  nature's  triumph  over  art. 

The  smiling  crowd  with  nod  and  beck, 
As  loth  the  pretty  scene  to  check, 
Slowly  dispersed,  and  went  their  way, 
Before  some  other  shrine  to  pray. 

But  some,  more  thoughtful,  bore  away 

In  troubled  consciences  that  day, 

The  questions:  "  Wherefore  should  we  kneel 

To  forms  which  neither  see  nor  feel  ? 

"  Why  should  we  hope  for  blessings  thrown 
From  folded  hands  of  sculptured  stone, 
From  hearts  which  neither  throb  nor  move, 
While  God  and  Christ  still  live  and  love  ? 

"Why  should  we  tell  to  saints  our  needs, 
Since  Christ  for  us  still  intercedes  ? 
He  holds  the  key  all  keys  before, 
And  opens  wide  the  heavenly  door." 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  229 


THE  BLESSING. 

IVE  us  this  day  our  daily  bread," 

V J     With  lisping  tongue  the  baby  said, 

And  clasped  her  dimpled  hands  the  while 
She  bowed  her  head  with  trusting  smile, 
And  asked  His  blessing,  who  alone 
Has  power  to  guard  and  keep  His  own. 

Above  the  music  of  the  spheres 
Whose  rapture  fills  unending  years, 
Amid  the  sound  of  angel  bands, 
Who  chant  His  praises,  harp  in  hand, 
Blent  with  the  songs  of  seraphim, 
The  prayer  of  childhood  rose  to  Him. 

Its  guileless  trust,  in  sweet  accord 

With  angels'  and  arch-angels'  word, 

Its  love  as  pure,  its  faith  as  strong 

As  that  which  winged  the  seraph's  song. 

Distinct  and  clear,  through  paths  unknown, 

It  reached  the  Father's  ear  alone. 

In  swift  response  the  blessing  came 
The  bread  and  meat  were  still  the  same, 
But  better  than  the  choicest  food, 
The  spirit's  peace,  the  inward  good, 
The  kinship  with  the  Holiest 
That  made  the  heart  of  childhood  blest. 


230  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

Oh!  Love  Divine,  which  stoops  to  bear 
The  burdens  of  our  earthly  care, 
Which  watches  o'er  our  daily  needs, 
And  still  the  waiting  spirit  feeds 
On  bread  of  life,  whose  rich  supply 
The  soul  that  eateth,  shall  no!  die. 


THE  OLD  YEAR. 

WHAT  has  the  old  year  brought 
Save  weariness  and  care, 
The  year  which  dawned  so  bright, 
With  promises  so  fair? 

What  record  has  been  borne 

Across  the  silent  sea, 
Where  garnered  stores  from  time 

Await  eternity  ? 

Some  change  in  every  life, 

A  year  Tor  young  and  old, 
Some  cherished  dreams  have  flown, 

Some  friendships  have  grown  cold, 

Some  loss  of  confidence 

And  trust  in  human  good, 
Where  still  the  wise  are  weak 

The  best  misunderstood. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  231 

Some  homes  made  desolate 

By  death's  relentless  hand, 
Too  oft  the  vacant  chair, 

The  broken  household  band. 

But  mid  the  wrong  and  ruth, 

Some  better  things  appear, 
Something  undying,  brought 

By  the  poor,  dying  year. 

For  those  who  fell  asleep, 

Rest  from  all  earthly  pain, 
While  love  assurance  gives 

For  them  "  to  die  is  gain." 

Have  not  the  living  plucked, 

Along  the  thorny  way, 
Some  bright,  unfading  flowers, 

Too  precious  for  decay  ? 

A  firmer  faith  in  God, 

As  human  friends  have  failed, 
And  brighter  hopes  beyond} 

As  earthly  joys  have  paled. 

The  strength  endurance  gives, 

The  peace  which  follows  pain, 
The  joy  of  sacrifice, 

Some  greater  good  to  gain. 

A  deeper  consciousness, 

Though  all  things  else  may  fail, 
That  truth  and  righteousness 

Shall  in  the  end  prevail. 


232 


AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

That  God,  unchangeable, 
His  purpose  doth  fulfill, 

Through  us,  or  over  us, 
According  to  our  will: 

Through  us,  when  willingly 
We  walk  in  wisdoms  ways, 

Though  e'en  the  wrath  of  man 
Shall  manifest  his  praise. 

We  greet  thee  then,  Old  Year, 
Hail,  and  farewell,  to  thee! 

May  other  years  still  bring 
Our  ships,  from  o'er  the  sea. 

Our  ships,  with  treasure  filled. 
Whose  worth,  time  can  not  tell, 

We  wait  eternity, 

Till  then,  Old  Year,  farewell. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  233 


THE  BRIGTH  SIDE. 

LOOK  on  the  bright  side,  'tis  ever  the  right  side, 
Doubt  and  discouragement  conquer  no  foes, 
Some  clouds  will  gather  in  all  sorts  of  weather, 

From  springs  early  dawning,  to  stern  winters  close. 

'Tis  the  sunshine  with  showers,  which  awakens  the  flowers, 
And  labor  will  strengthen  the  sinews  of  youth, 

Through  the  black  cloud  is  shining  a  bright  silver  lining, 
And  victory  rides  on  the  banner  of  truth. 

Little  skill  on  the  wave,  would  the  mariner  have, 
If  storm-ripples  never  disturbed  the  blue  sea, 

But  the  good  ship  must  ride  through  the  stormiest  tide, 
And  ruler  and  lord  of  the  tempest  must  be. 

Though  a  shadow  may  fall,  on  our  pathway  so  small, 
Shall  we  think  the  whole  universe  shrouded  in  night? 

While  the  smoke  dims  our  eyes,  far  up  the  blue  skies 
The  sun  and  the  stars  shine  eternally  bright. 

To  look  moodily  down,  to  murmur  or  frown, 

Will  make  neither  burden  nor  sorrow  more  light, 

The  golden-hued  morning,  the  green  hills  adorning, 
Will  dawn  on  the  longest  and  dreariest  night. 

When  shines  on  our  vision  the  sweet  fields  elysian, 
Where  Love  and  Peace  dwell,  with  no  fears  to  annoy, 

What  we,  in  our  blindness,  called  Heaven's  unkindness, 
Shall  crown  us,  immortal,  with  beauty  and  joy. 


234  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

HARVEST  HOME. 

(SONG.) 

FROM  summer's  dusty  toil 
We  tillers  of  the  soil 
With  sheaves  have  come — 
Bringing  blest  autumn's  dower, 
Of  richest  fruit  and  flower, 
For  this  triumphant  hour 
Of  Harvest  Home. 

From  farm  or  shop  or  mill 
Our  busy  hands  we  fill 

With  trophies  rare — 
To  tell  of  harvests  stored, 
Of  industry's  rich  hoard, 
By  plenty's  hand  out-poured, 

And  God's  good  care. 

The  swiftly  passing  year 

Has  brought  us  health  and  cheer 

And  joy  and  rest; 
Plague  has  no  terrors  hurled, 
And  war's  red  flag  is  furled — 
At  peace  with  all  the  world — 

Our  homes  are  blessed. 

Our  father's  God,  and  ours, 
For  sunshine  and  for  showers 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  235 

We  praise  Thy  name! 
May  blessings  from  Thy  hand 
Still  fall,  like  grains  of  sand 
Upon  the  ocean  strand, 

Ever  the  same. 

As  year  shall  follow  year, 
May  we  assemble  here, 

Crowned  with  Thy  love, 
Till,  earthly  labor  done, 
And  all  time's  triumphs  won, 
Beyond  life's  setting  sun, 

We  meet  above. 


LITTLE  KATHERINE. 

AWAY  in  the  north  of  Russia, 
It  is  bitterly  cold  you  know, 
They  have  long  and  tedious  winters, 
With  heaps  upon  heaps  of  snow. 

They  muffle  themselves  in  bear  skins, 
And  wrap  up  the  children  in  furs, 

And  then,  in  the  stormiest  weather, 
There's  scarcely  a  creature  stirs. 

But  ever  the  days  of  sunshine 
Will  follow  the  days  of  storm, 

And  over  the  gleaming  snow-fields 
The  sun  shines  brightly  and  warm. 


236  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

They  harness  the  dogs  for  horses, 
And  sometimes  the  swift  reindeer, 

Enjoying  a  merry  sleighride 
With  never  a  thought  of  fear. 

The  people  are  brave  and  hardy, 
The  children  are  rosy  and  bright, 

Who  work  with  a  will  when  needful, 
Or  play  with  a  child's  delight. 

They  chatter  and  talk  in  a  language 

Which  few  of  us  understand; 
But  dimples  and  tears  and  laughter, 

The  same  are  in  every  land. 

A  hut,  in  a  great,  and  lonely  forest, 
Was  where  little  Katherine  lived, 

Her  father  and  brothers  were  hunters, 
And  fishermen,  too,  who  thrived. 

Her  brothers  were  strong  and  manly, 

As  rugged  as  mountain  pine, 
And  Katherine  fair  as  the  blossom 

Which  brightens  the  clinging  vine. 

A  sun-shiny  day  for  the  hunters 

To  follow  their  winding  way. 
A  busy  work-day  for  the  mother, 

Left  Katherine  free  to  play. 

She  gathered  her  treasures  together, 
And  out  in  a  wide,  sunny  space, 

Warmly  wrapped,  with  her  sled  and  her  shovel, 
She  found  a  most  beautiful  place. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  237 

She  fashioned  a  curious  snow-man, 

She  rode  down  the  steep  hillside, 
And  wonderful  snowballs,  unnumbered, 

She  rolled  in  a  heap  with  much  pride. 

And  when  the  brief  day  was  declining, 

She  caring  no  longer  to  roam, 
Sought  the  pathway  she  trod  in  the  morning, 

Which  led  to  her  own  quiet  home. 

But  devious  paths  by  the  hunters 

Bewildered  the  poor  little  maid, 
The  faster  she  sped  through  the  forest, 

The  further  from  home  she  had  strayed. 

And  soon  on  her  path  fell  the  shadow 
Of  trees  which  their  long  branches  tost, 

The  way  had  grown  wilder  and  rougher, 
And  Katherine  knew  she  was  lost. 

She  ran  and  cried  out  in  her  terror, 

She  sobbed  out  each  dearly  loved  name, 

Alone  in  the  cold  and  the  darkness, 
But  no  one  to  rescue  her  came. 

Her  mother  at  home,  growing  anxious, 
Had  called  and  recalled  from  her  door, 

Then  hastened  to  search  in  the  places 
Where  Katherine  lingered  before. 

The  danger  increased  with  the  darkness, 

For  many  a  ravenous  beast 
Lay  hidden  all  day  in  his  covert 

Awaiting  the  night  for  his  feast. 


238  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

The  hunters  came  weary  and  laden 

With  bear's  meat  and  skins,  quite  a  store, 

But  hastened  away  with  their  torches, 
Their  hearts  beating  heavy  and  sore. 

They  called,  and  they  searched  all  the  by-ways, 

Could  little  feet  travel  so  far, 
O'er  rough  paths  and  no  paths,  unaided, 

Unguided  by  moon  and  by  star  ? 

At  last,  the  long  search  was  rewarded, 
When  hope  for  the  moment  had  fled, 

One  cried  out  for  joy  as  he  stumbled 
Above  a  small  shovel  and  sled. 

Farther  on,  in  a  den  with  some  bear  cubs, 
Whose  mother  the  hunters  had  slain, 

Safe  and  warm,  little  Katherine  rested, 
In  slumber  forgetting  her  pain. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-42m-8.'49( 85578)444 


PS 
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Clarke  - 
Autumn  leaves 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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PS 
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